


Late Shift at Palindrome

by mundungus42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Bookstores, Dubious Ethics, Exhibitionism, F/M, HP: EWE, M/M, Masturbation, Miscarriage, POV Ron Weasley, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Play, Severus Snape Lives, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5562631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundungus42/pseuds/mundungus42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron leaves his job as an Auror and his engagement in one fell swoop. His jilted fiancée is out for blood and is displeased to find that Ron has a staunch defender in his new employer and that he's more than capable of standing up to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a finished work of fiction that was written as a gift for a specific recipient, and as such, concrit is not being requested.
> 
> Written for Amorette for the 2015 SSHG Giftfest on Livejournal for the following prompt: Snape decides to lead a quiet life after the war and runs a new library/book shop in Diagon Alley. Hermione keeps coming in for books. 
> 
> Enormous thanks to Sc010f, Bluestocking79, Pyjama_pants, and AR for idea bouncing, Mr. 42 for beta reading, and RichardGloucester for Britpicking. I adore you all and thank you so much for giving your time to make this story work, insofar as it does.

123454321

 

Ron Weasley looked into the tiny mirror, the lone adornment on the wall of his bedsit, and straightened his tie. No real point in doing it, given that his black beard obscured the Windsor knot, but he was going into battle. It was reassuring to make sure every piece of his armour was in place.

He donned the cloak that matched his subdued tweed dress robes, placed a bowler atop his pomaded coiffure, and perched a pair of golden pince-nez on his nose.

Perfect.

He doubted his own mother would recognise him. The disguise was probably a bit much, given that Plautus Rhince's store was practically across the street from his flat, but if the eighteen Howlers he'd received from seven different senders were any indication, nowhere in the Wizarding World was likely to be overly hospitable towards him, at least not until the furore had died down somewhat.

After brushing a flake of plaster from his shoulder, he slid his wand into the hidden holster in his waistcoat and stepped into the corridor. The buzz of pedestrian traffic grew louder as he descended the narrow stairs to the street outside, and he adjusted his posture to that of a confident, wealthy wizard as he stepped into the crowd of Diagon Alley.

He allowed himself to be swept down the cobblestones amidst knots of witches, clumps of wizards, and harried families ensuring that their children were sufficiently equipped for start of term at Hogwarts.

There was a line out the door at Ollivander's, and amidst the hubbub Ron nearly walked past his destination, which had taken up residence in what had been the junk shop across the street from the wandmaker. It was a dark, narrow shopfront, and there was a sign that read “Closed” on the door, written in letters that looked as though they could have been painted in blood.

There was a hand-written sign in the papered-over window that said “Palindrome” in sharp script.

Ron knocked on the door, and to his surprise it swung open to reveal a shop whose walls were covered from floor to ceiling with empty bookshelves.

“Hello?” he called.

In response, a ladder descended suddenly from above and hit the floor mere inches in front of him.

Only his years of being an Auror kept him from shouting in surprise, even if it did make him jump, and his wand leaped into his hand seemingly of its own accord.

No explanation was forthcoming, and after blinking stupidly at the ladder for a moment, Ron glanced up, where light was coming from an aperture in the ceiling. He shrugged, holstered his wand, and hoisted himself up the ladder.

At the top of the ladder was a cosy office piled high with books, where a man in casual robes was making tea on a low bookshelf behind the desk.

“How do you do, Mr. Rhince?” asked Ron. “I'm—”

“Ronald Weasley,” finished the man, turning to face him.

Ron felt the blood drain from his face, both to have his real identity out in the open and to find himself face to face with Severus Snape. The last time he'd seen Snape he had been bleeding to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. While he'd heard through unofficial channels that Snape had miraculously survived the ordeal, he hadn't given the matter much thought. It wasn't as if they'd had anything resembling a cordial relationship as student and teacher. Ron's dream job was looking less and less likely to become reality. Still, Snape hadn't actually attacked him yet or sent him off with a flea in his ear. He reckoned he ought to wait and see what happened.

Snape held out a cup and saucer to him and gestured for him to sit in the chair opposite the desk.

“Ta,” said Ron, fixing his eyes on the steaming surface of the tea and forcing himself not to look at the ropy scars on the side of Snape's neck. He took a small sip and willed himself to stay silent as he returned the cup to the saucer and raised his eyes to Snape's.

“You needn't worry about the security of your alias,” said Snape after a moment's pause. “I've no desire to reveal your whereabouts to those who feel they are entitled to make decisions for you.”

Ron blinked in surprise. “Thank you, sir.”

“I do expect you to return the courtesy, even if I decide not to take you on.”

As if he'd be stupid enough to cross Snape. “Yeah, of course.”

Snape nodded. “It is obvious that between working summers in your brother's establishment and having been an Auror, you are over-qualified to work in a shop.”

“Nearly as over-qualified as a potions master super-spy is to run one,” said Ron.

Snape pursed his lips at Ron's cheek, but he didn't comment. “What I would like to hear from you, given your demonstrated antipathy for books, is why you wish to work in this particular shop.”

“That's easy,” said Ron. “I love comic books. Always have.”

“Really?” asked Snape scornfully. “What are your favourite titles?”

Ron felt the knot in his stomach relax slightly. He had no idea why Snape of all people wanted to sell comic books in Diagon Alley, but there were few people who knew more about comics than Ron did. “Narrow it down, give me an era or genre.”

Snape sat back in his seat and looked thoughtfully at him.

“Postwar superwizard deconstruction.”

“ _Remarkable Dragonman: the Black Flame_ ,” said Ron promptly. “Anything Artemisa Bloxom wrote, really. It could just as easily be her run of _Wandmavens_ when Wonder Witch was corrupted by Mad Mazurka's Enchanted Lorgnette.”

“Age of exploration ripping yarn.”

“It's hard to beat _Apparation to Jupiter_ , but I'll always have a soft spot for Professor Pfingleton-Psmythe, so probably _The Adventure of the Murdering Magician_ or _Secret Sorcerers of the Nile_.”

“Post- _Martin Miggs_ Muggle slapstick.”

“ _The Stanford Hodgekiss Mysteries_ , hands down. Even Herm—, I mean, even Muggleborns like those.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Folkloric retellings of contemporary opera.”

Ron snorted. “Has anybody actually written one of those apart from _Panglorica_? Not that it isn't brilliant, of course.”

“Pre-war erotica,” said Snape, relishing his consonants.

Ron felt his ears turn red. “I'm not really well-read in that genre.”

Snape's mouth turned down in the scowl that Ron had hoped never to see again. “You disapprove of erotic books?”

For the first time in his life, Ron felt a certain amount of anxiety over the thought of disappointing Snape. “It's not me that disapproves,” he protested. “I quite liked the Tilly Tickler books, especially _Tilly and the Train Treats Trolley_ . But it's much easier not to read them than it is to defend yourself to people who think they're wrong and disgusting.”

“Come this way, Weasley,” said Snape, gesturing to a door at the far end of the office, beyond the ladder that led to the main part of the store.

Through the door was a balcony overlooking the back of the store, which was as full of bookshelves as the rest, though these shelves were nearly full of books.

“The back room contains the finest collection of erotic comics, illustrations, and graphic novels in Britain,” said Snape. “If you wish to work for me, you will need to familiarise yourself with the genre, which is currently a gaping hole in your otherwise adequate knowledge, and more importantly, I need to know that you will never judge a customer for his or her reading choices.”

“I would never—” said Ron.

“You must also be willing to defend the rights of all adults to read what they please, no matter how squeamish you feel about your own choices.”

“Will there be much call for that?”

“One hopes not. However, one is not optimistic. Fortunately, there is an Age Line restricting access to the back room to those who are of age, so we will not be running afoul of any obscenity laws.”

“Too bad nobody's invented an Arsehole Line.”

Snape gave Ron a measuring look. “The position is yours, if you want it.”

“I do,” said Ron.

“The salary, while no less than I pay myself, is not particularly high, though you'll receive a modest commission on individual items over fifty Galleons.”

Ron blinked in surprise. What on earth did Snape have that was worth fifty Galleons? Issue one of _Professor Remarkable_? He shook his head. “I've got a pension that covers the bare necessities. As long as the job keeps me in beer and comics, I'll be fine.”

Snape gave him a pointed look. “I do hope that you will do everything within your power to keep your personal problems out of the workplace.”

“I'll keep using the Terence Billingsby alias and disguise until things quiet down. As for the personal problems, I can't keep any of them from entering a place of business, but as far as I know none of them reads comics any more, so the odds of them walking in from off the street are pretty low.”

“Perhaps I'll start you on the late shift,” said Snape thoughtfully. “Five in the evening to one in the morning, Thursday to Sunday, but I'll need you during the day for restocking on Wednesdays.”

“Fine,” said Ron, hoping he didn't sound as pathetically grateful as he felt.

“Welcome to Palindrome, Mr. Billingsby,” said Snape.

“Thanks very much, Mr. Rhince,” said Ron, shaking his hand.

123454321

There was no grand ceremony the day that Palindrome opened its doors. Snape merely peeled back the paper covering the front window, where the name of the shop surrounded by an oval of numbers and letters was stencilled in antique gold, and propped the door open, letting in a gentle autumn breeze and the smell of cottage pie from the Leaky Cauldron.

Ron felt a flutter of anxiety as he Charmed the feather duster along the length of the tallest shelves for the sixth time that morning. He'd got used to the days of quiet industry with Snape getting the shop ready to open and the novelty of evenings by himself enjoying the store's more exotic offerings. Still, even Snape had admitted Ron's disguise would fool all but the most observant. He wondered if Snape was at all nervous. Snape was, after all, far more distinctive-looking than Ron was, even with his long hair tied back and the horn-rimmed spectacles he now wore.

Small wonder that he chose to open Palindrome for the first time on the Wednesday after September 1st, start of term at Hogwarts, to observe Ron in action and to ensure that Ron would be able to run the shop during the late shift up to Snape's standards.

The first person to wander in was none other than old Mr. Blotts, of Flourish & Blotts, who had a pinched, disapproving look on his face until he realised that Palindrome would not be directly competing with him for business. He even purchased the annotated reissue of _Terwilliker's Spectacular_ , which he said he'd loved when he was a lad.

Ron rang up his purchase and wished him a good day, and that was that. Their first sale.

The curious trickled in and trickled out, which resulted in a handful of sales, mostly superwizard comics and the occasional adolescent humour of the _Loony Nonby_ type. One woman who barely looked old enough to have taken her NEWTS asked if they had the new Wonder Witch figurine that shot curses and whose force-field could be used as a night-light, and Ron had to bite back a laugh at the sour expression on Snape's face as he informed her that they sold books, not toys. But before he knew it, five o'clock had rolled around, and it was time for them to close up.

Snape had Ron close out the cash register and accepted the mokeskin cash bag with a curt nod.

“I'll see you tomorrow at five,” said Snape.

“Great,” said Ron. “You don't want—?” he stopped himself mid-sentence and cursed himself for speaking out of habit.

“What?” asked Snape, with more curiosity than animosity.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to have a pint at the Leaky to celebrate. But that's a pretty thick idea, even for me.”

“Yes, it is,” said Snape, crossing his arms.

Ron felt himself flush. “I mean, the last thing either of us needs is to run into our old mates.”

Snape narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “The sentiment is appreciated.”

“Sure,” said Ron, as he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to leave. “Good night, then.”

“One moment, Weasley,” said Snape, and Ron heard the sound of clinking glasses behind him.

“We needn't risk exposure to have a celebratory drink.”

Ron turned to find Snape holding a bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky, and he poured them each a tot.

“Keep that behind the counter, do you?” asked Ron.

“Consider it an employee benefit,” said Snape, handing him a glass.

“Thanks,” said Ron, doing his best to ignore the sense of surreality that cropped up in the increasingly frequent moments when Snape was being decent. “I think we did all right getting the place together.”

“It's sufficient,” said Snape, his eyes gliding over the display shelves. “There are always improvements to be made, but it will do for now.”

“Don't be too enthusiastic now,” said Ron, clinking his glass against Snape's and drinking. The magical heat blazed down his throat, and he coughed, releasing a puff of smoke.

“I should warn you,” said Snape, taking a sip. “I took the liberty of announcing the shop's opening in one of the more specialized trade papers, so it's likely that you may encounter a collector or two tomorrow evening.”

“Which paper?”

“ _Osric's Oddities_.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You wouldn't have, given that you're not well-read in the genre in which it specialises.”

“Oh,” said Ron. “Do they only come out at night, then?”

“Not at all, I expect most of them to come during my shift, but that is exactly the sort of joke that you will not make when dealing with them, is that clear?”

“Right,” said Ron, blandly. “Is it all right if I make jokes like that when there aren't any customers around?”

“Weasley, is there something you wish to say to me about the contents of the back room?”

“No,” said Ron mulishly. “It just a bit dodgy that you're telling me not to make jokes when the whole point of this shop is that people should be able to say whatever they want to say. It's not like people don't say the same and worse every day.”

Snape sipped his firewhisky. “The prevalence of the sentiments is precisely why it would be inappropriate to voice them to someone whose hobby is erotica. At best, it's impolite. At worst, it's a silencing tactic, a type of bullying.”

Ron nearly spit out his drink to hear Snape, who had taken every opportunity to be cruel to Ron and his friends while under his care, disapprove of bullying. “That's exaggerating things a bit, isn't it?”

“Tell me, Weasley. Do you still support the Chudley Cannons?”

“Always have, always will.”

“How would you feel if you were constantly surrounded by Ballycastle fans who made constant digs at the Cannons and their supporters?”

“Like normal,” said Ron, joking half-heartedly.

Snape recognised Ron's concession and topped off his drink. “What did you think of _Amazon Enchantresses_?” he asked, referring to the antique titty rags Snape had assigned him to read.

“All right,” said Ron, doing his best not to think of the excellent wank he'd had over the lesbian orgy at the stone idol. “Not exactly literature, but it gets the job done.”

“You didn't find the shading and pencil work to be remarkable given the era in which they were produced?”

“It was all right,” said Ron, not wishing to admit how distracted he'd been from the pencil work.

“Weasley, if I were simply trying to improve your masturbatory skills I'd send you to Knockturn Alley for some moving portraits. It's perfectly acceptable to have a physical response to the comics. That is their intended purpose. However, I'm trying to familiarise you with the classics of the genre, and if I've suggested a title to you, then I consider it to have one or more aspects of note beyond the fact that it is arousing.”

Ron knew the colour in his cheeks had nothing to do with the firewhisky. “Sorry, sir. I'm just not used to thinking of them as art.”

“I see,” said Snape, tossing back the last of his firewhisky. He wandered into the back room and returned with a handsome set of folio volumes. “I had hoped that the reverence you showed for the other genres of comics would translate easily, but it seems that I erred in not giving you something more substantial first.”

“ _Delphinia in Bloom_? I've heard of this one. Inge Zoblansky also wrote _Thaumaturgical Theodora_ for years, and it was my absolute favourite superwizard comic when I was a first year. I didn't know that one was dirty. I just thought it was, you know, for witches.”

“It is,” said Snape, smirking. “Nonetheless, I have every expectation that you will enjoy it. But do take your time. Try to see beyond the breasts and bottoms.”

Ron sniggered into his drink, and Snape sighed.

“Good night, Weasley. Lock the door behind you, and don't forget to put the 'closed' sign in the window,” he said, sweeping off into the back room.

123454321

Ron saw neither collector nor anyone he knew on his first night alone in the shop. There was a small crowd of cheerful wizards and witches when the Leaky Cauldron closed at eleven, but given that they bought Palindrome's entire inventory of _Gninny the Gnome_ books, Ron wasn't going to complain. His evening shifts through the weekend brought a few of his former classmates from Hogwarts, and more importantly, none who saw through his disguise.

The following Wednesday, Ron ran the register while Snape re-stocked the shelves, and Ron got his first look at a collector, an elderly witch in bright purple who strode confidently into Palindrome and bellowed, “What ho, Severus!”

Snape's head whipped toward the door, but he relaxed immediately upon seeing the identity of the woman who had hailed him.

“Aquilina,” he said, taking her hands and kissing her cheeks. “Welcome.”

“I saw your notice in _Osric's_ ,” said Aquilina, pursing her wrinkled lips in a smirk. “I hope you haven't been telling tales, old thing. I've come to see things for myself.”

“I'd rather hoped you would,” said Snape.

“Presumptuous of you. If you hoped to see me, you ought to have set up shop up north. You'd have done well in Hogsmeade.”

“If I never set foot in Hogsmeade again it'll be too soon,” said Snape, grimacing as escorted her into the back room.

Ron bit back a snicker at the thought that the old bird wouldn't be troubled by the Age Line. Audible laughter would be a bad idea, given Snape's warning and the fact that Aquilina was wearing more gold than he'd seen in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault after the Gemino Charm had been activated.

Unfortunately he was unable to eavesdrop, because a witch with triplets under the age of four walked into the store, and two of the children immediately burst into tears while the other set a display of _Lark and Lachlan_ comics on fire. No sooner had Ron extinguished the flames, the two crying children began to manifest magic. One shot up into the air, bobbing just above his mother's frantic attempts to grab him while the other managed to merge himself with the bookshelf, which made him scream all the louder.

By the time the triplets had been caught, freed, and calmed and the mother had purchased an armful of _Pip and Pep_ pop-up books in apology, Snape and Aquilina emerged from the back room. She was pink in the cheeks, and her eyes were sparkling, and she was holding a small package reverently in front of her.

“—exactly what I was looking for. However did you know?”

“I confess that I acquired that particular piece with you in mind. Your knowledge of seventeenth-century works is only exceeded by your taste in them,” said Snape, somehow managing to sound matter-of-fact in his flirtation.

“Flatterer,” said Aquilina, taking the package and handing Snape a sack of coins. “You know, Squingeworth would have charged me twice as much, and I'd have paid it.”

“That's because Squingeworth is a speculator. I am a curator.”

“A distinction that could cost you quite a few Galleons.”

“Something that would concern a proprietor whose sole purpose in opening a shop was to make profit, I'm sure.”

Aquilina laughed. “I suppose I shouldn't criticise when I have so much to gain. It was good to see you, ducks. I'll stop by again, soon, especially if you keep tempting me with delectable morsels like this.”

Snape escorted her to the door and watched her walk away from just inside the threshold of the shop, his face in shadow. The peaceful, satisfied look on his face lasted until he turned and saw the burned books that Ron was picking off the damaged display.

“I remarked to Aquilina that it sounded as though you were wrangling dragons,” said Snape, sighing. “I hadn't realised how correct I was.”

“Toddler triplets,” said Ron grimly.

“I trust you charged their guardian for the damaged property?”

“I didn't exactly have time to do inventory,” said Ron. “I just wanted to get them out the door before they did any more damage.”

Snape went to the register and examined the receipts. “Surely an Auror knows a number of nonlethal curses, jinxes, and hexes.”

“Are you telling me that I'm not allowed to make jokes about dirty comics but I am allowed to hex children?”

“Cruelty can leave lasting scars,” said Snape. “A Full Body Bind does not.”

“Shame you didn't know that at Hogwarts,” muttered Ron, tossing the damaged books into the bin and making a note on the inventory sheet.

“I did,” said Snape, looking levelly at Ron in a way that made him squirm. “Scars were necessary armour for those who needed to fight.”

“And now?” asked Ron.

“Fantasy can be a tool for healing,” said Snape. “Are you enjoying _Delphinia in Bloom_?”

“It's not what I expected,” said Ron, who had been surprised by lengthy meditations on art and identity that were sprinkled liberally throughout the nudity and sexual encounters. “I'm re-reading the first volume because I know there are things I missed the first time through. The art, it's in a famous style that I should know the name of, right?”

“Being able to name _art nouveau_ is unnecessary in order to appreciate its beauty. Now, if you can manage to keep the store from catching on fire for a second time today, I wish to take my tea in peace.”

“Fine,” said Ron, straightening his robes and flicking a piece of burned book from his beard.

When Snape had gone, Ron flipped through the inventory list and whistled in admiration to see that Aquilina Rookwood had purchased a small pencil drawing called _The Trollop's Triumph_ for a hundred and fifty galleons. Apparently the contents of the back room were worth somewhat more than issue one of _Professor Remarkable_. But her surname made his heart pound in sympathetic memory of the Death Eater that had been at least partially responsible for his brother's death. Could that cheerful old lady have been a Death Eater's wife? Or sister? Or even a Death Eater herself?

Ron shook his head, as if to knock loose the unpleasant thoughts. He didn't need to invent enemies, especially when they were obviously wealthy customers. And Snape wouldn't be so friendly with her if she'd been personally involved with any dodgy business.

The shop was empty, and what few wizards and witches were wandering Diagon Alley were probably in search of food, so Ron seized the opportunity to read a few more pages of his book. Delphinia and her erstwhile lover Rosalie had spied one another across an arena theatre whilst watching a production of _Alas, I've Transfigured My Feet_.

Ron wondered at the feeling of peace that stole over him as he let his thoughts merge with Delphinia's, imagining what Rosalie's hands might be doing under her robes, and he began to understand what Snape meant by contributing to his education.

123454321

Several weeks later, six post owls delivered a package from Rome while Ron was working the late shift. He reluctantly set down _The Travels of Horatio and Hester_ , another one of Snape's recommendations, gave treats to the owls, and opened the box.

Brilliant, the English-language copies of _Squiffly Squirrel's Sicilian Sojourn_ that had been back-ordered!

Ron entered the books into inventory, set them on the shelf in between _Squiffly Squirrel's Roman Ramble_ and _Squiffly Squirrel's Tuscan Trip_ and was about to go back behind the counter when the bell over the door rang, and Ron turned to greet the late-night customer only to find Hermione Granger standing inside the door with her wand drawn, blinking at him in disbelief.

Ron stared at her in mute horror. His fingers itched to go for his wand, but he didn't want to provoke her beyond what he'd already done. It was like staring down a Hippogriff if the Hippogriff was capable of casting permanent hexes and knew eight ways of removing a man's bollocks.

“Hullo, Hermione,” he said, pleasantly surprised that his voice was steady.

“Thirty-four days,” she said.

“What?”

“That's how long it took to find you.”

“The department signed off on that?” asked Ron.

“I took some time off.”

Ron gulped. In the four years they'd been partners, Hermione hadn't taken a single holiday and nagged at him when he did.

“I need an explanation, Ron.”

“I thought my note was pretty clear.”

She made a dismissive sound. “It doesn't make any sense.”

“You don't have to understand it, Hermione. But I need you to respect it.”

“Respect?” she spat. “What makes you think you deserve any respect after you unilaterally destroyed everything we worked so hard for?”

“I think you're proving my point, love,” said Ron, backing away slowly with his hands raised in front of him. Snape had installed a protective shield behind the counter that could be activated by pressing on a particular floorboard.

Hermione made a visible attempt to collect herself, but she didn't lower her wand. “Fine. Let's say no more about the fact that you destroyed my career.”

“You're still one of the best Aurors in the business. If anything, you'll be able to do twice what you did before without having to wait for me to catch up with you.”

“They resent me, they always have!” shouted Hermione. “They don't care how many dark wizards I catch or how many illicit potions rings I break up. They're invested in their cosy little boy's club, and without you to pal around with, doors are closing in my face left and right.”

“But Harry—”

Hermione laughed nastily. “Harry won't talk to anybody about it, not even me. He said you needed some time and that you'd be back. But you're not coming back, are you?”

Ron slipped behind the counter and placed his toe on the floorboard that would activate the shield. “No, I'm not.”

“You don't care what it'll do to my career if you don't?”

“Of course I care. But I care more what'll happen to me if I do,” said Ron. “Things were all right when we were partnered with other people, but after they put us together, every time we succeeded and were given more responsibilities, a bit of what was fun about the job died. I hated working all the time. I hated that you needed me to be the clot so you could be the brilliant one. I hated that you and me always took a back seat to Aurors Granger and Weasley.”

“I should have known,” said Hermione, fiercely scrubbing tears from her eyes. “I should have known that you'd up and leave again instead of trying to fix what was wrong. You always did.”

The accusation stung, as it always had when she'd fired it at him. But this time, instead of making him want to prove how wrong she was, it made him feel tired and a bit sad.

“Hermione, please. I'm at work.”

“I'm not finished.”

“Yes, you are. Do you not even see how backwards it is that you're madder at me for quitting my bloody job than for breaking it off with you?”

“Just because I have professional ambitions—”

“If you're not going to buy anything, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” said Ron stoutly, pressing his toe against the floorboard to activate Snape's magical shield. Thankfully, it was both silent and invisible.

“You always do this!” shouted Hermione, whose wand was glowing with an ominous yellow light. “You always find a way to avoid discussing what's important! You'd rather just give up than try to make it work!”

A truly alarming number of canaries came shooting out of Hermione's wand, their beaks and claws diamond-bright and ready to strike. Ron ducked behind the counter and heard the canaries bounce off the shield with a chorus of winded squeaks. There was a sizzling sound and a flash of red light as Hermione sent a Stunner into the shield.

“Huh,” he heard her say, and she took several steps toward the counter.

There was a loud whirring sound followed by a wooden clunk, and Ron's heart shot into his throat. Snape was still in the upstairs office! He peered above the edge of the counter just in time to see Hermione leap back from the ladder that had descended from the ceiling, just as he had when he first entered the shop, and roll to the side as a series of spells Ron couldn't identify came raining down from the opening in the ceiling.

Ron was very glad the magical shield was still in place when Hermione pulled over a display for cover and began to return fire. When she realised that she was outwanded and her cover was made of pasteboard, she dove towards the counter and took cover behind a low bookshelf.

“Put down your wand!” she shouted. “I'm an Auror!”

There was a pause in the hail of hexes, and Ron realised that Snape was waiting for his instructions. Hermione's wand was still pointed at the ceiling, and she was breathing hard. She had no idea who she was up against, and the last thing Ron needed was to fill out the paperwork if they actually injured one another. Ron sighed, deactivated the shield and put his hand on Hermione's arm.

“You need to go,” he said softly.

She whirled around to face Ron.

“Don't touch me!”

Ron bit back a sharp retort. ”Fine. Just—get some rest. Aren't you supposed to be on holiday?”

“Sod off,” she said, squaring her shoulders. She glanced up at the hole in the ceiling. “I was just going,” she said to it, giving a sarcastic little bow.

She snatched a book from the box that Ron had been unpacking and tossed a handful of coins on the counter. “And look, I've even bought something.”

Ron hadn't looked closely at the other contents of the box, but he immediately recognised Amadore Sarpiero's artwork on the cover, since he'd just read Sarpiero's beautifully drawn series of sexual vignettes the week before. Bloody hell, of all the books in the front room, she would have to grab the one that belonged in the back.

“That just arrived,” he said, hating that his voice cracked. “I haven't priced it or put it in inventory yet.”

“Well, I've just saved you some work, haven't I?” she said, making a beeline for the door. “That's what you wanted, after all.”

She slammed the door shut behind her.

Ron grabbed the packing list and skimmed it until he found the book that Hermione had taken. Bollocks. It was the retelling of _Simple Sherwin_ in which the title character, assumed to be a Squib, discovers that his one gift is magically impregnating every person he beds, witch, wizard, or part-humanoid. They'd been lucky to get the one copy, and now it was gone.

Snape appeared at his shoulder. “What did she take?”

“The Sarpiero,” said Ron miserably.

Snape swore. “How much did she throw at you?”

“Five Galleons, nine Sickles.”

“We'd have sold it for thirty Galleons. Miss Granger has gone too far, and she will face the consequences.”

“No!” said Ron.

Snape looked stunned. “She attempted to assault you, she caused property damage, and she all but stole merchandise from us.”

“Yeah, well nobody likes being thrown over.”

“She falsely claimed to be an Auror.”

“She is an Auror, just not an active one. Besides, she wasn't here acting as an Auror, she was acting as a woman scorned. Besides, if you file a report, they'll need a statement from me, and I don't want them to know where I am. Hermione wasn't the only one I left in the lurch, so they might even take her side.”

“She deserves a reprimand at least,” said Snape, looking none too happy.

“She also deserves to be in a department where single witches aren't the subject of a betting pool and where her male partner doesn't get all the credit for her hard work, but she's not getting that, either.”

“Very well,” said Snape, scowling. “But I'm going to document this incident, regardless. We can file the report if and when you feel the time is right. But if she ever attempts to assault you again, I am going to report her. People who are willing to abuse their power have no business wielding it.”

“She's not usually like that,” said Ron. “I've only ever seen her like that once before. The first time she shot those canaries at me, actually. She's usually the calm one who has to talk me out of a strop.”

“Being an Auror must have disagreed with you more than you've led me to believe,” said Snape, after a moment, pulling the bottle of Firewhisky from its hiding place.

“It does seem that having a job that you like does wonders for your temper,” said Ron, accepting a glass and giving Snape a nod.

Snape's lips quirked, and they both drank.

“Well, I reckon I'd better finish unpacking this,” said Ron, gesturing to the delivery from Rome. “Especially if Hermione decides to come back and yell at me once she sees what's in that book.”

Snape returned to his office upstairs while Ron added several other books to the inventory and shelved them. A few minutes later, Snape descended once more with a handwritten description of Hermione's attack.

“Sign and date this, if you would.”

“Sure,” said Ron. “What day is it again?”

“September nineteenth,” said Snape.

“Bloody hell,” said Ron. “It's her birthday.”

“Surely she knew not to expect a card from you.”

“It's just that this is the first year I haven't gotten her something since we were twelve.”

“On the contrary, you've given her a princely gift, if she has the taste to appreciate the Sarpiero.”

“She'll probably criticise the grammar,” said Ron glumly.

“Weasley, you've had a trying evening. Go home.”

“I'm fine,” said Ron. “You need your beauty rest more than I do.”

Snape blinked, and Ron was shocked to see a hurt expression flicker across his features before he covered it with a scowl.

“Bollocks, I didn't mean it like that,” said Ron hastily. “I just meant that I've got this stupid beard and spectacles. Nobody's going to notice me looking tired. Right. Shutting up now. I'll just show myself out, then.”

“Good night, Weasley,” said Snape, whose expression had gone back to inscrutable once more.

“Good night, sir.”

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Ron's next few shifts in the shop were busy. Aquilina must have got the word out, because Ron had one or two specialist collectors every night . Most of them rightly assumed that they knew more about the contents of the back room than Ron did and only bothered him if they wanted to know any prices. Except for one git named Smerdyakov who asked him snotty questions. Never had Ron been more grateful to be asked about unicorn comics by a couple who were looking for recommendations for their six-year-old nephew.

Still, the experience with Smerdyakov made Ron aware that he didn't really possess enough knowledge of erotica to bluster through even a short conversation with a customer, despite Snape's list of recommendations. Thus, Ron decided that it would be best to learn from the master, preferably without the master being aware of it. Thus, he drilled a hole in a gap between two shelves in the main room that allowed him to run Extendable Ears into the back room to listen, which is how he learned to ask questions like, “Whose version of _The Tale of the Three Sisters _do you prefer?” and to say things like, “Perhaps I could interest you in these unauthorised issues of _Professor Remarkable_?”__

__He also spotted Seamus Finnegan, Michael Corner, and several other former classmates among a stag party that flowed in after last call at the Leaky Cauldron, but pulled his bowler down on his head, and none of them recognised him. Ron was getting ready to close up for the night when there was a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye, and Harry's Patronus came galloping into the shop._ _

__“I'm sorry,” it said in Harry's voice. “I tried to stop her, but you know Hermione when she's got a full head of steam. Don't say any more than you have to, because she thinks she's got you on Oglethorpe's.”_ _

__The warm glow Ron had felt at seeing Harry's Patronus was abruptly doused as the message sunk in. The Age Line meant that the shop was in compliance with Oglethorpe's Decency Laws. Still, if Harry believed Hermione's arrival was imminent, he should make sure that Snape's latest recommendation was on its shelf in the back room._ _

__After depositing _The Illustrated Quidditch in Bed_ in its proper place in the back room, Ron entered the main store to find it completely filled with Aurors, one of whom was his ex-girlfriend, examining the contents of the shelves. Ron prayed for patience._ _

__“Can I help you?” he asked._ _

__Six wands turned towards him in concert, and Ron sighed. Granger, Chatsworth, Vandachari, Leung, Hernandez, and St. John._ _

__“We're here to confiscate illicit materials in accordance with the Oglethorpe Decency Laws,” said Chatsworth, the senior Auror, who clearly hadn't recognised Ron yet._ _

__“Anything that you'd seize under Oglethorpe's in the back room behind an Age Line,” said Ron. “See for yourselves. Come on, Chatty, I wouldn't be stupid enough to take a job somewhere that wasn't on the right side of the law.”_ _

__Chatsworth did a double-take and peered closely at Ron. “Weasley!” he said. “I'll be blowed!” He let out a loud laugh, but his face quickly sobered, and he turned to Hermione. “Mind telling me where you heard that this place had smut out where the kiddies could see it?”_ _

__“It was an anonymous complaint,” she said primly._ _

__“Uh-huh,” said Chatsworth, giving Hermione a knowing look. He let out a gusty sigh. “Well, lads, we might as well have a look-see while we're here.”_ _

__“We haven't found anything suspicious, sir,” said Vandachari, who had been examining the shelves with Hernandez._ _

__“The Age Line appears to be intact, functioning, and tied permanently to the threshold,” said Leung, poking it with her wand._ _

__“And there are definitely materials that would fall under Oglethorpe if it weren't,” said St. John, emerging from the back room fanning himself with an issue of _Angelique of the Auvergne_.”_ _

__“But it is,” said Chatsworth. “Does your 'anonymous source' remember anything else that might help us, Granger?”_ _

__“My source clearly saw a store employee handling adult materials in plain sight of everybody in the main room of the shop.”_ _

__“Were there any children present?” asked Chatsworth._ _

__“I don't—,” said Hermione, flushing. “I didn't ask. But it doesn't matter. Oglethorpe is clear. 'Materials deemed to be indecent may not be stored or read in the Establishment.' The employee was obviously reading it.”_ _

__Ron felt a flush creep across his cheeks. Hermione was right, damn it. He had been reading _The Travels of Horatio and Hester_ at the counter before she arrived. But there was no way she could have known that. The book had a simple leather cover, and it was so old that the gold had worn off the embossed letters, making it impossible to read the title without close examination. He kicked himself for assuming that she'd arranged the raid because of _Simple Sherwin_ , which was indisputably smutty but they could easily prove hadn't even made it into inventory yet._ _

__“Chief, you really ought to see this,” said Leung from the back room._ _

__“You and I are going to have a conversation about this back at the office, Granger,” said Chatsworth, making his way to the back room._ _

__“Yes, sir,” she said, her lips compressing into a stubborn line._ _

__“What makes your 'source' so sure the store employee's book was dirty?” asked Ron in a low voice._ _

__“Because she knew that particular store employee wouldn't be reading an actual book unless it was,” she whispered back._ _

__“You've got nerve, haven't you?” said Ron, temper flaring._ _

__“Yes, I have,” said Hermione smugly. “And I'm also right.”_ _

__Fortunately for Ron, the bell over the door rang as Snape came into the shop with a ledger tucked underneath his arm. Leung and Chatsworth glanced through the doorway to the back room to see who had entered._ _

__“What in blazes?” he asked, glaring at each of the Aurors in turn._ _

__The Aurors fell completely still as each of them realised who was standing in front of them. Ron was gratified to see the blood drain from Hermione's face._ _

__“We're being raided,” said Ron, “in response to an 'anonymous' complaint that one of us had indecent material where children could see.”_ _

__“I believe I recall the incident,” drawled Snape. “That was the evening a valuable book was stolen from our store, was it not?”_ _

__Ron frowned. What was Snape up to? “The customer paid us.”_ _

__“A pittance that hardly covered the cost of having it owled from Italy,” said Snape. “I wrote up a complaint and would have filed it, but my associate asked me not to.”_ _

__Chatsworth glanced at Hermione, whose hands were clenched into fists, and back to Ron. “Why didn't you want to file a complaint?”_ _

__“I thought it was a one-time misunderstanding,” said Ron._ _

__“And now?” asked Snape._ _

__Ron met Hermione's eyes, which glittered with fury until she turned her head._ _

__“I don't think I need to worry about it happening again,” said Ron._ _

__“I suspect you're right, son,” said Chatworth._ _

__“He had better be,” said Snape coldly, fixing Hermione in an icy glare. “Otherwise the contents of the complaint combined with this and any other unwarranted visits from Magical Law Enforcement could be construed as harassment for reasons that are all too obvious. Now, get out, all of you.”_ _

__Chatworth let out a loud whistle, and the Aurors snapped to attention._ _

__“Apologies for the inconvenience,” he said. “Now, how much do you want for this?”_ _

__Ron nearly let out a guffaw to see that Chatsworth had selected the special edition of _Honeypot's Apothecary_ with the moving cover. Instead he smiled blandly and took the Auror's money. St. John was next with several issues from the back room, Leung dropped a week's pay on a striking nude of the titans enjoying one another's titanic endowments, Hernandez bought the first volume of _Remarkable Retaliators_ , and Vandachari, who had four children, bought four consecutive issues of _The Further Adventures of Babbitty Rabbitty_._ _

__As Ron rang them up, he noticed that Snape had cornered Hermione and was speaking to her quietly. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but Hermione wasn't actively shouting or hissing at him, so he hoped she'd calmed down somewhat._ _

__Finally the Aurors left, and Snape turned to Ron. “I'm afraid that henceforth I must ask you to do your more exotic reading in the privacy of your flat or in my office, if you must.”_ _

__“She completely twisted the purpose of Oglethorpe's Law,” complained Ron. “She was just looking for the smallest reason to get me.”_ _

__“The fact remains that she found one. You prevaricated tolerably well, but Miss Granger is hardly the first Auror to selectively apply the law, nor shall she be the last. It must not happen again. I'm owling the Ministry Library for any and all laws, statutes, and legal precedents involving obscenity, indecency, and pornography and on Wednesday we are going to go through them together._ _

__Ron groaned. “I hate paperwork. It's why I left my last job.”_ _

__“Then let us hope that this was the final one-time misunderstanding between ourselves and the Aurors,” said Snape._ _

____

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That Wednesday found Ron nearly up to his neck in paperwork, scribbling notes on a piece of parchment when he found something relevant. It was cold comfort that Snape was also elbows deep in books and papers, since he somehow made it look purposeful. Not even Hermione had managed to look so methodical and organised when she was chasing down a clue. The colour-coded sticky flags were the same, though.

Ron had also developed a quasi-Pavlovian response to the bell over the door, since its every ring gave him an excuse to leave the tedium for a few minutes to talk about comics with somebody.

Shortly before lunch, the bell over the door rang, and Ron practically vaulted over the counter to get away from the eye-crossingly dull reading only to find Hermione standing in the door, looking so lost that Ron wanted to put his arm around her, an impulse he squelched immediately.

He glanced at Snape, who was studiously ignoring them, the traitor. Well, he supposed he should see if the dressing-down from Chatsworth had done anything to sweeten her temper. He was not optimistic.

“Good morning,” said Ron, steeling himself for impact.

“This isn't an official visit,” said Hermione. “I came to return your book.”

“We're not filing the report,” said Ron.

“It doesn't matter,” said Hermione.

Oh. That explained why she was in civilian robes in the middle of a workday.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's only for three months. And Thurston and Hernandez hired me to consult on their serial hexing case before I'd cleared out my desk.”

“Funny how they only appreciate you after you leave,” said Ron.

She looked away from him for a moment before holding _Simple Sherwin_ out to him. “Is it really worth so much?”

“Why, don't you think it is?” he asked, taking the book from her.

“It's disgusting,” she said.

“I wouldn't know. I didn't get the chance to read it.”

“Right,” she said, shifting awkwardly.

“We don't usually accept refunds,” he said, aiming at joviality and missing.

“I don't care about the money. I just want to forget about it.”

“It can't be _that_ disgusting. Sarpiero's a master inker.”

“I hexed you.”

“You weren't yourself,” said Ron.

“Yes, I was,” said Hermione, tears welling up in her eyes. “That's the problem. You were right to leave, and I did everything I could to deny that. I don't even like the witch who attacked you, but I worked so hard to become her that I don't know if I can undo it.”

Ron was suddenly aware of stillness at the counter, where Snape had ceased working and was listening intently.

“If I learned anything from being your friend for so many years, it's that you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“I don't know that I trust my mind any more,” she said, allowing Ron to usher her over to the chair near the children's comics as her tears began to fall. “It's too easy to justify doing the wrong thing for the wrong reason when you've got the law on your side.”

“There's nothing wrong with your mind, love,” said Ron squeezing her shoulder. “I think it's your heart that needs some work.”

Hermione's stopped sniffling. “That's an awful thing to say.”

“I'm not the one who got suspended for harassing the same business you shot up before pinching their merchandise,” said Ron feeling his temper rising. “You said I used to keep you in check. Since when did you start needing someone else to tell you the right thing to do?”

An ugly smirk crossed Hermione's face. “You tell me. Clearly you're dying to.”

Ron knew she was baiting him and he didn't care. “The Quirke case. You knew that we had enough evidence to convict him of burglary, but we both knew he was guilty of casting an Unforgivable Curse, but he'd got rid of his wand, so we couldn't prove it.”

“I got the wand, though, didn't I? And we were right, he cast the Imperius on the whole family.”

“Yes.”

She made an exasperated sound. “But?”

“But you found the wand by giving him Veritaserum-laced tea after locking him up for ages without food or water.”

“I had the proper training to administer Veritaserum.”

“So it was a coincidence that the very next week the department started requiring pre-approval for dosing people with Veritaserum?”

Hermione crossed her arms. “It was legal when I did it.”

“Legal but dodgy, Hermione,” said Ron. “But what I can't get past is that you did it to send a man to Azkaban for life when all he did with the Imperius was make sure nobody woke up while he ransacked the silver.”

“The Imperius is Unforgivable for a reason.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” asked Ron incredulously. “Harry cast the Imperius Curse! So did McGonagall! Should they be in Azkaban, too?”

“We were trying to defeat Voldemort!

“And Quirke was trying to feed his family. Yeah, he broke into a house and stole some valuables; he absolutely deserved to go to Azkaban. But not for the rest of his life.”

“The Wizengamot could have granted him clemency.”

“You made damned well sure they couldn't when you introduced evidence of the Unforgivable.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” asked Hermione. “Our job is—” she cleared her throat, “—was to enforce the law, not question whether the laws are fair. That's what we swore to do.”

“We also swore to protect people. That doesn't just mean people who've never put a toe out of line.”

Hermione was silent for a moment. “You've really thought about this.”

“I've had a quiet month,” said Ron. “Minus a couple of incidents.”

He could've sworn he heard Snape snort, but he chose that particular moment to shuffle some papers, so Ron couldn't be sure. The sound caused Hermione to glance at the counter, but Snape refused to meet her gaze. She turned back to Ron with a huff of annoyance.

“If you've had such grave concerns ever since the Quirke case, why is this the first time we're discussing it?”

“Would you have listened?”

“We'll never know, will we?” she said nastily before making a visible effort to calm herself. “I'm sorry. I'm proving your point again, aren't I?”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but he had no idea how to respond.

“It takes time and practice to change habits learned of necessity,” remarked Snape from the front of the room.

Hermione's head snapped towards him, and Ron quickly put his hand on her arm before she said something she'd regret.

“And wanking helps, too,” said Ron, hoping to derail the conversation and distract Hermione.

“Don't be disgusting,” said Hermione, making a face.

“Reading can be an invaluable distraction,” said Snape. “As can acts of kindness to oneself.”

Ron was surprised that Snape had followed his lead. “Not all dirty comics are like _Simple Sherwin_ ,” he said.

“I thought you said you hadn't read it,” said Hermione.

“I know Sarperio's other work. It's not what I would recommend to start,” said Ron. He turned to Snape. “Can I give her _Delphinia in Bloom_?”

“This isn't a lending library, Weasley,” said Snape.

“Fine, take it out of my wages,” said Ron, striding defiantly into the back room. He winced slightly to see that the first volume of _Delphinia in Bloom_ was priced at twenty Galleons. Perhaps Snape would give him an employee discount. He removed the tag, gave it to Snape, and handed the book to Hermione.

“It's fine,” said Hermione, pulling out her coin purse. “I can pay for it. Thurston and Hernandez, remember?”

Snape glanced at the tag in his hand. “The credit on the book you returned covers the cost.”

Ron managed to keep his jaw from dropping open. Snape's dirty look was completely unnecessary.

“Thank you,” said Hermione, giving him a small smile. “Well, I supposed I'd better get back home. I've got some Arithmantical analyses to do on Hernandez's numbers. Are you sure you don't want to have a look at the case?” she asked, glancing at Ron.

“Positive. I've got a date with a book tonight.”

“Ugh, Ron!” she said, laughing.

“Seriously, good luck. And you know I'm here if you want to talk.”

“Thanks.” She turned to leave and paused in the doorway. “Is it all right if I tell Harry where you are? He only sent the Howler under duress.”

“From Mum?”

“From me,” she said, blushing. “Sorry.”

“S'okay. And yeah, you can tell him. It'd be good to see him. Maybe not here, though?” he asked in an undertone, glancing at Snape.

“Best not to,” said Hermione. She gave him a little smile as she exited.

“You needn't worry about me hexing Potter without provocation,” said Snape in a disgruntled voice.

“I don't,” said Ron. “It's him I don't trust not to be provoking.”

“Surely he doesn't still hold a grudge against me for his godfather's death.”

“I doubt it. He commissioned Dean to paint a portrait of you. It's hanging in his office.”

The last time Ron had seen someone's mouth shrivel up the way Snape's did, an unripe lemon had been involved.

“I see,” said Snape. “Perhaps it's best that you meet Mr. Potter elsewhere. And be sure to let me know where and when so that I may be far, far away.”

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	2. Chapter 2

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Meeting Harry for drinks took a couple of days and several owls to coordinate. Ron wasn't keen to run into anybody he knew, and he and Harry were so recognisable, especially together, that Ron nearly scrapped the idea altogether. Fortunately, there was a watering hole in Knockturn Alley called The Cloak and Wand that was dark, quiet, and best of all, private.

Ron took no chances and donned his full Terence Billingsby regalia, and he looked so out-of-place in the candlelit bar that the elaborately-tattooed witch serving drinks took one look at him and asked if he needed directions. He ordered a pint, glanced around the pub, and spotted Harry sitting in a booth in the corner.

Huh. His hair was longer on top, so he no longer needed to flatten his fringe against his forehead to conceal his scar, and without his old spectacles Harry's eyes were startlingly green. Ron wasn't about to admit that Draco might be good for anything, but he had to admit that Harry looked good.

“Is it true you're working with Snape?” asked Harry as soon as Ron had sat down.

“For a month now,” said Ron. “And I'm doing fine, thanks for asking.”

Harry had the grace to look abashed. “Sorry,” he said “I've heard bits and pieces from Hermione, and it sounds like you're doing better than she is. Did she really try to hex Snape?”

So much for changing the subject. “She didn't know it was him at the time. She was hexing me, so she didn't expect any resistance. But Snape attacked her from behind.”

“I'm surprised she got out in one piece.”

“If he'd actually been trying to hurt her, she might not have. I reckon he just wanted her out of the shop. She was knocking things over and might've destroyed some of our inventory.” 

“I'm glad he was there.”

“Me too,” said Ron. “But that's been an interesting part of working for him—he might tell you off in private for being a twat, but in public, he's got your back.”

“Sounds like how his Slytherins talk about him.”

Ron took a fortifying mouthful of beer. “So. How's...” he made a gesture towards Harry's wrist, which was encircled by a silver chain whose links were in the shape of dragons.

“He's fine,” said Harry. “Planning a fund-raiser for a war orphan education fund.”

“Death Eaters' spawn, more like,” muttered Ron.

“Anybody who lost their parents,” said Harry, with a bit of an edge in his voice. “Teddy Lupin was one of the first beneficiaries.”

“Right. Sorry. Old habits.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Harry, sighing.

“Seriously, I'll shut up about it,” said Ron. “You get enough of it from people who aren't your friends. You don't need me being an arse on top of it. I'm... I'm happy you're happy.”

Harry blinked at him in surprise. “Thanks.”

“At least he's talked you into getting a proper haircut at last,” said Ron.

Harry snickered. “You're one to talk. Black hair makes you look like a git. And that pomade smells.”

“Yeah, when you're as naturally handsome as I am, it's only fair that you play with a handicap sometimes.”

“Your mum still on the warpath?” asked Harry.

“No idea. But if Hermione's still mad, I don't think Mum's going to be baking me cakes any time soon.”

“I saw her today. Hermione, I mean. She seemed better.”

“We had a talk. A proper talk that didn't involve wands.”

“You think she's fit to return to work?”

“Are you asking me as an Auror or as her friend?”

“Are the answers different?”

“At this point, no. That's also the answer, by the way. She's not ready.”

“Good. That's what I told Chatsworth.”

Ron nearly spit out his beer. “Chatsworth wants her back already?”

“Well, losing both of you at once, we're all still reeling a bit. I don't think anybody really realised how much work the two of you were doing.”

“How much work Hermione was doing, you mean,” said Ron, signalling the bartender for another round.

“And now that the piles of parchment are on his desk, he's beginning to think maybe he was too harsh on her, given that she actually witnessed you reading smut behind the counter.”

“She only thinks she did,” said Ron.

Harry gave him a look.

“All right, fine, it could have been a fair cop. But it wasn't because she came with the sole intention of having it out with me, not investigating an anonymous complaint, so don't you dare tell her.”

“As if I don't hear enough of her gloating as it is,” said Harry, finishing the last of his drink just before new ones arrived.

“Would you consider taking her on?” asked Ron, after a moment's pause.

“Draco might object,” said Harry drily.

“Not like that, you pillock,” said Ron. “I mean as a partner.”

Harry took a thoughtful sip. “I never really thought about it. It was always you two.”

“It's just that you've never had any trouble standing up to her.”

“Is that why you left? I mean, I knew the hours were getting to you and that you weren't spending as much time together as you wanted, but did you ever just try telling her that?”

“I have now,” said Ron. “But it wasn't just that.”

Harry's regard was much more intense when he wasn't wearing spectacles. “Spit it out, Ron.”

Ron fought to to keep from squirming. “Well, you remember how she sent Umbridge off to the centaurs our fifth year?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, grinning. He clicked his tongue in the sound of clopping hooves.

“Did you ever wonder what they did to her?”

“Roughed her up, gave her a good scare, maybe,” said Harry. “Nothing the old cow didn't deserve.”

“Harry, mate, I know you grew up with Muggles, but even Muggles have legends about what centaurs do to human women they catch.”

Harry's eyes widened. “Blimey,” he said softly. And then he started again. “You mean when they were threatening to take Hermione—”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “But don't you see? We might've been thick as planks, but it was always Hermione's plan for them to do, you know, _that_ to Umbridge. I didn't think it could get worse than what she did to Rita Skeeter, but obviously it did.”

Harry's face was a shade paler than it'd been. “Well, you were the one who said it: brilliant, but scary,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I was seeing a lot of scary,” said Ron. “Too much of it. And if you think that means I'm not cut out to be an Auror, cheers mate, I already worked that much out.”

“There are a lot of people out there doing bad things,” said Harry.

“That doesn't mean Aurors get a free pass to do whatever they want to anybody,” said Ron flatly. “Did Toby Quirke deserve to go to Azkaban for life for nicking some old forks? Does anyone deserve what Umbridge got? Or Marietta Edgecombe, for that matter?”

“But Hermione's always been that way,” said Harry. “She knows the rules so she can break them, and she's ruthless in pursuit of what she thinks is fair. And frankly, she's an incredible Auror. What I don't understand is why you're no longer okay with it, after so many years. What happened?”

Ron gazed at candlelight reflected in the waxed surface of the table for a moment. “The war ended,” he said at last. “You-Know-Who is gone. His followers are in Azkaban. We don't have to sleep with our wands under our pillows any more. But it's like Hermione still sees Muggle-baiting every time someone Apparates in earshot of Muggles, and every petty theft is the key to finding another Horcrux. I want to leave the war behind me, and there is no way I can do that as her partner.”

“And you couldn't as her boyfriend either?”

“I haven't been her boyfriend for a while,” said Ron. “More like a flatmate who happens to sleep in the same bed.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I didn't know.”

“We wanted to be normal, and in time, it became normal,” said Ron. “Anyway, it says a lot that I'm happier working for Snape than I ever was working with Hermione.”

“Jammy bastard,” said Harry.

“Anyway, Hermione's not exactly taking her time off for personal reflection, so if you could keep an eye on her when she does go back, I'd feel a bit better.”

“I'll do what I can,” said Harry. “I'm glad she didn't scare you off permanently.”

“Being scared never made me run off,” said Ron.

Harry's eyes went a bit soft around the edges. “No, it didn't.”

“Terrible food, now, that'll send me running for the hills,” said Ron, waving down the bartender, who had a basket of chips. “So, what do you think of Chudley's chances this year?”

Harry grinned. “Piss poor.”

“Well, that's an improvement from last year,” said Ron, grinning.

123454321

The following Wednesday, Ron was both surprised and unsurprised to see Hermione enter the store on the heels of a group of witches looking for recommendations for their book club. Ron happily led them over to some of the meatier folk tale deconstructions from the eighties, answered questions about different incarnations of Wonder Witch and where a comics novice should start.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her approach Snape, who scowled at her and gestured for her to precede him into the back room. Once Ron had rung up the book club, he glanced over to the door leading to the back room, from which he could now hear lowered voices.

Ron glanced over his shoulder to ensure that he was alone in the shop before reaching into his waistcoat pocket for the Extendible Ears he carried with him at all times. He ran the fleshy string into the hole he'd drilled between the shelves to eavesdrop on Snape conversing with collectors in the back room. He put the other end of the string to his ear and could just barely make out their conversation.

“For the last time, I haven't any intention of pursuing him,” hissed Hermione.

“Then why this sudden interest in his hobby?” asked Snape, his voice hard. “Why these transparent pretexts to visit his place of work?”

“He gave me the book because he thought I'd like it. I do, and I want to read the rest of the volumes. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“Because you are a skilled and inveterate liar, Miss Granger, and when dealing with such people, I find that actions speak far louder than words.”

“I didn't say that the book was my only reason for coming,” said Hermione.

“Obviously,” said Snape in a bored voice. “Either state your motives for continuing to badger my employee, or leave.”

“I wish to consult with him on an official investigation, nothing more.”

Ron snorted. Hermione never wanted his opinion on anything. She just liked having someone to talk at.

“Mr. Weasley is no longer an Auror, and neither, I might point out, are you.”

“The details are none of your business.”

“On the contrary. This is my business, Mr. Weasley is my employee, and this isn't the first time you've come here to harass him. If you truly wish to speak with him, do so where my property isn't likely to suffer from the fallout of your conversation.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was keeping Ron from assisting your non-existent customers,” snapped Hermione.

Ron winced. She was in for it now.

“Haven't you any other way of contacting Mr. Weasley?” asked Snape silkily. “One might think he didn't wish to have anything to do with you.”

Ron was all too familiar with the sound of Hermione inhaling noisily through her nostrils. It usually preceded yelling.

“Please,” she said tightly. “It's important. It could mean a man's life.”

“Brava,” said Snape, punctuating his words with sarcastic applause. “Very convincing.”

“Will you stop that?” she shouted. “You—” she cut off abruptly. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were afraid of losing him.”

That was it. Hermione had gone around the twist. And from the sound of it, she'd managed to shock Snape into silence, at least for a moment.

“I haven't the pleasure of understanding you,” said Snape, sounding as close to bewildered as Ron could recall hearing. “Unless you're harbouring the delusion that I have some romantic interest in your former fiancé?”

Ron had to stifle a guffaw that they surely would have heard in the next room.

“When was the last time you had a friend?” asked Hermione. “If you ever had any.”

“Get out,” said Snape, his voice deadly quiet. “I suggest that you obtain a dictionary from my colleague across the alley and look up the word 'projection.'”

“I'm familiar with the concept,” said Hermione. “For example, you accusing me of having motives as dishonest as yours. Or did you really think I came in here in the middle of the day, knowing full well that you'd be here, in order to coerce Ron into doing something he didn't want to do?”

Huh. She had him there. On what, exactly, Ron wasn't sure, but he doubted Snape was used to being caught flat-footed in an argument. His assumption was confirmed when there was a loud rattle as Snape removed a book from the shelf through which Ron was eavesdropping.

“I believe this is what you came for,” said Snape stiffly.

“It is,” said Hermione, sounding only half as self-satisfied as Ron would have expected her to.

Snape stormed out of the back room so quickly that Ron had to leave the Extendible Ear hanging between the bookshelves in order to leap back behind the counter and bend over the inventory ledger in what he hoped was a casual pose.

“I'll be at lunch,” he said to Ron.

“Right,” said Ron, making a valiant effort at nonchalance. “See you then.”

Snape slammed the door behind him so hard that the entry bell fell from its hook.

By the time Ron had returned the bell to its place on the door, Hermione was standing by the bookshelf fingering the Extendible Ear Ron had abandoned.

“Spying on the spy,” she said. “That's bold. But why the Extendible Ears without Extendible Eyes?”

“I need to know everything that goes on back there,” said Ron, taking the Ear from her and returning it to his pocket. “I'm just trying to learn collector lingo from the best.”

“There are things you don't know about collecting comics?”

“There are always new things to learn,” said Ron.

“That there are,” said Hermione. “Like the fact that Severus Snape likes you.”

“Bollocks,” said Ron firmly. “Don't try to argue me out of the shop, too, or you'll have nobody to ring up _Delphinia_ for you.”

Hermione handed him the book. “Perhaps 'like' is too strong a word. But he was definitely being protective. Honestly, as if we haven't been friends since we were eleven.”

“Well, you did attack me,” said Ron. “And him, too.”

“He thinks he needs to protect you from me because of that?”

“Among other things. That'll be twenty Galleons.”

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something else, but counted out the coins in silence. “I really do need to talk to you about Thurston and Hernandez's serial hexer.”

Ron sighed. The shop was empty, so he had no excuse other than really not wanting to get drawn back into Auror work. “All right, but I need to help any customer that comes in while you tell me about it.”

“Thank you. Now, I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to be completely honest with me.”

That didn't sound good. “All right?”

“The other Aurors. They're intimidated by me, aren't they?”

“Pretty much,” said Ron, grateful that the question hadn't been harder.

“Why?”

“Well, if someone's in your sights, they're buggered, aren't they?”

“Like Toby Quirke?”

“Exactly. You could question some bloke who witnessed a robbery and he'd end up in chokey for flying a broom over Muggle houses when he was twelve. No extenuating circumstances or mitigating factors. Only justice: blind, cold, and swift.”

“Right. That explains a lot, actually.”

“How d'you reckon?”

“We've made an arrest in the serial hexer case.”

“You told Snape you hadn't caught him yet.”

“That's just it,” said Hermione. “All the evidence points to the wizard we arrested. Arithmantical analysis confirms that the attacks coincide precisely with his movements.”

“That's great! Did _Priori Incantatem_ prove he did it?”

“No. In each case, the wand used to hex the victim was discarded.”

“Where did all those wands come from?”

“Purchased in cash from estates over the past few weeks. Nothing there but possible grounds for premeditation. But what you said about the Quirke case got me thinking. My analyses show that the victims have nothing in common other than being female and having the misfortune to be in their attacker's vicinity.”

“Serial hexers are usually lone loonies, aren't they?”

“Loonies who usually have a record of petty offences before they start attacking people. The suspect is squeaky-clean. I couldn't find so much as a broomstick violation. He's married, has two children, and works an exceedingly tedious job at which he excels. Thurston and Hernandez had St. Mungo's evaluate him, and they couldn't find anything to suggest that he'd just decide to start hexing people as he went about his business. Other than extremely strong circumstantial evidence, we've got nothing.”

Ron whistled. St. Mungo's was only called in under special circumstances. “Could the actual hexer be following him?”

“Possible, but because my analysis fingered their suspect, Thurston and Hernandez are convinced they've got the right man. They won't listen to any other explanation.”

“You think your analysis is wrong?”

She shook her head. “It's not wrong, they're just not looking at it in context. What's more, they want me to question the suspect under Veritaserum tomorrow. Chatsworth's approved it.”

“Merlin help the poor sod,” said Ron. “Even if he didn't do it, you're sure to find something in his past.”

“I already know what I'll find,” said Hermione. “But I'm not certain it's relevant or if it's fair to bring it up.”

“How do you know?”

“It's Percy,” said Hermione.

Ron's jaw dropped. “You're having me on.”

“I wish I was.”

“Merlin, Hermione, why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“I was just following patterns,” said Hermione miserably. “I didn't know who it was until they brought him in a few hours ago.”

“Does Harry know?”

“He's taking word to your family.”

“What about Audrey and the girls?”

“They've gone to stay with her family.”

Ron drew his wand to send a Patronus to Snape. “I've got to get home to Mum.”

“Ron, wait.”

Ron was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “What is it?”

“I don't know if I can be objective.”

Ron was torn between sympathy for her distress and exasperation that his brother was in chokey and she was worried about her job. “They can't make you administer the Veritaserum,” he said, leading her to the reading area.

“Hernandez doesn't have the potions background and Thurston would make a hash of it,” said Hermione, sitting. “I'm Percy's best chance to find out the truth, but they'll accuse me of being soft on him if I don't tear him apart.”

“There are loads of reasons that someone might have wanted to frame him,” said Ron, taking the chair next to her.

“Obviously, Ron,” said Hermione. “It could just as easily be one of us framing Percy because he was on the wrong side for so much of the war. But they won't even consider that my Arithmantic analyses might be interpreted differently.”

“Can't Harry do something?”

Hermione shook her head. “They won't let him near this. His biases are well-known. The only reason they're letting me anywhere near this is because they think I'm out for revenge.”

Ron thought for a moment. “Aren't you?”

She scowled at him. “Don't be stupid. I came here to talk to you about it in confidence, didn't I?”

“I mean against Percy. We looked up to him, and he turned his back on all of us. He worked for the Ministry knowing full well that we believed Voldemort was running the place, just because he thought he was better and smarter than us.”

Ron wasn't nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be to see each uncharitable statement make Hermione's shoulders sag a bit more.

“Am I a terrible person if all of those thoughts had crossed my mind?”

“Of course not,” said Ron. “But you'd be a terrible person if you let them guide your questioning. You seriously don't think he did it, right?”

“Right.”

“Then just do the world's shortest Veritaserum interrogation,” said Ron. “'Percy Weasley, did you hex all those witches? No? Perfect! Thank you, you're free to go after you sing 'Oops! Lost Me Wand.' See?”

Hermione gave a small smile. “I'd considered something like that, actually. But they'd never let me do a Veritaserum investigation on someone I knew again.”

“Would that be such a bad thing? They know Harry can't be objective all the time, and he's still respected.”

“It's just that I have this horrible scenario in the back of my head that the serial hexer is someone who knows my methods and hates me for something I did ages ago that I probably don't even remember, and has set up this elaborate frame-up of Percy. And when I send him to Azkaban, you and Harry will hate me forever, all because I went into the interrogation without having a theory that made sense. And Thurston and Hernandez know it's a set up, and they're not letting me near their previous investigation because they want to see me fail and never come back.”

“You know that's completely mad. Thurston and Hernandez probably aren't letting you see the case file because you'd immediately see things they did wrong and make them feel stupid.”

“That seems more likely,” said Hermione. “I know that. But this case has me tied in knots. I've been sleeping terribly. Only reading _Delphinia in Bloom_ has helped get my mind off things.”

“It's great, isn't it? I loved that bit at the theatre.”

“I did too. All that business with the skirts. The _art nouveau_ design is positively sumptuous. But truly, Ron. How do you sleep at night?”

Usually after a satisfying wank, but he wasn't about to tell her that. “How do you mean?”

“I knew I'd make enemies when I decided to become an Auror. Anybody involved with putting people into Azkaban does. But I don't understand how you and Harry can be so unaffected by it all. We've all done terrible things, but they were in pursuit of something good. But seeing Percy in shackles, Percy who fought with us at Hogwarts, it was like the purity of our motives and the good we did don't actually matter.”

“Not according to the law,” said Ron. “But that's why there are people on every line of enforcing the law, from Aurors to the Wizengamot. So we can all weigh the circumstances and assign a fair punishment.”

“Isn't that taking the law into our own hands?”

“It's taking the law into a lot of hands. It's only when one person does it by themselves that I worry.”

“Even if that one person is cleverer than all the others put together?” asked Hermione.

“Even then. Being clever isn't everything, you know. Harry always knows what's right and what's wrong. Chatsworth has a knack for assigning the right person to to any job. Thurston is the most methodical person I know, even if he hasn't got much imagination. Hernandez gets on with people better than any of us.”

“And you?” asked Hermione. “What's your strength?”

“I know a lot about comics,” said Ron, gesturing to the shelves around them. “And now I know the value of that: seven and eight an hour plus commission.”

Hermione laughed. “I hope you're due for a pay rise soon.”

“Keep coming back for books by boutique publishers, and maybe I'll get one.”

The bell above the door rang, and Ron turned to see Aquilina bustle into the shop.

“Severus!” she shouted. “I hope you've got the new Sarpiero in!”

“He's out,” said Ron, rising to greet her. “And yes, we've got it.”

Aquilina glanced at Hermione, who was standing and straightening her robes, and smirked. “I do hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all,” said Hermione crisply. “We were having a professional discussion. Thank you for your help,” she said to Ron.

“Sure,” said Ron. “I hope you enjoy the second volume.”

“I'm certain I shall.” Hermione strode out the door with her head held high.

“I like that one,” said Aquilina when the door had closed behind her. “Cool as a cucumber and lies like a Goblin. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

“I did,” said Ron. “I didn't like all of them.”

“Oh well,” said Aquilina. “Lovers come and go, but friendships last a lifetime.”

“And lovers who were once best mates?”

Aquilina's knowing smirk faded, and she clucked her tongue sympathetically. “In such cases, I always recommend Howser.”

“Who-ser?”

“Don't tell me you haven't read her! She's essential! Now, if you'll be a darling and fetch the Sarpiero, I'll attempt to penetrate Severus's organisational system and find you the Howser. Your friend, she's Muggle-born, isn't she?”

“How did you know?”

“I've known Severus a very long time,” said Aquilina absently as she disappeared into the back room.

Ron followed her and stopped by Sarpiero's books, but was dismayed to find that _Simple Sherwin_ wasn't on the shelf. He checked the inventory list, and no, it hadn't been sold. Perhaps Snape was keeping it in his office for Aquilina?

“Gnome bottoms,” said Aquilina. “It's not here. I know he must have it somewhere.”

“His office?” asked Ron. “I think that's where he's stashed the Sarpiero. Unfortunately, I don't know how to call the ladder.”

“Then it's a very good thing that I don't need one,” said Aquilina, drawing her wand and floating elegantly up to the balcony that overlooked the back room.

“He may have some nasty protection spells,” called Ron, hoping with all his heart he wouldn't have to explain to Snape how one of his best customers ended up dead outside his office.

“Nonsense,” shouted Aquilina. There was a loud pop, followed by a sizzling sound. “Here we are. Are you coming?”

“I've got to mind the store,” said Ron.

“Spoilsport,” said Aquilina.

She reappeared a few minutes later with the Sarpiero and a sizeable book, which she handed to Ron.

“Take care with that, Howser's signed it,” said Aquilina. “Small wonder he was keeping it upstairs with the rest of his hoard. I have half a mind to try and buy it off him, but something tells me he wouldn't sell. Now, I see this charming book has been marked thirty Galleons, but I notice that it's not mint.”

“Someone took it home by mistake,” said Ron.

“The state of the spine tells me that 'someone' was quite taken with Sherwin's first encounter in the barn,” said Aqilina. “Not that I blame someone, of course. It's a delightful spread. I hope someone enjoyed it as much as I plan to.”

Ron blinked in surprise. Perhaps Hermione hadn't found it as revolting as she'd claimed.

“I think knocking the price down to twenty would be fair.”

“Sure,” said Ron absently, trying not to imagine the pages that had apparently caught Hermione's attention.

“And have Severus give you a lesson in bargaining,” said Aquilina.

“Right,” said Ron. “Wait, what?”

Aquilina laughed. “Let's pretend you offered me twenty-five and I agreed, provided you included these charming bookmarks.”

Ron smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

“Sarpiero is terribly distracting,” said Aquilina, grinning wickedly. “Do let me know how you like _Pascentia's Passion_.”

Ron glanced at the dark purple leather cover and hoped it didn't portend anything dire about the content. “I will.”

Aquilina gave him a nod and turned to go, but she paused in the doorway. “I've been meaning to ask you, young man. Have you decided when you're going to stop wearing that disguise?”

“When I've not got anything to hide from, I reckon,” said Ron, surprising himself.

“I suppose the hair colour isn't so terrible,” sighed Aquilina. “Striking with your eyes. But that beard wants trimming.”

“I'll take it under advisement,” said Ron.

Aquilina laughed. “You have been spending time with Severus, haven't you? Be well, young Master Weasley.”

“You too,” said Ron.

The clock said Snape had only been gone forty minutes, and already Ron was itching to get to the Burrow. Mum would be in tears over Percy's arrest, and Dad would have taken the day off work to be with her. The others would probably trickle in as the news reached them.

Ron glanced at the empty shop. He might as well see what Aquilina was on about with the book, Oglethorpe's Decency Laws be damned. He flipped through the book and found that it was filled with delicate watercolours in the shades of wild flowers, and it was set in ancient Rome. To his surprise, it was filled with homoerotic scenes as well as men with women, orgies that spread over two pages, some dodgy business with fauns and centaurs, and what appeared to be paintings of mosaics, frescoes, and friezes. It was all very highbrow, and he wondered if Aquilina wasn't overestimating his intelligence.

However, the bell over the door rang, and Ron secreted the book behind the counter out of reflex, but it was only Snape, his glower not appreciably sweeter.

“I trust the harpy is gone?”

“Yeah, she left a while ago. Hey, would it be all right if I took the afternoon off? Family crisis.”

“Do you think that wise?” asked Snape.

“I can't not go,” said Ron. “Percy's been arrested. Thurston and Hernandez think he's the serial hexer.”

“Has she completely lost her wits?” spat Snape.

“It's not Hermione,” said Ron. “Or rather, it's them interpreting her numbers in a stupid way. She knows he didn't do it. That's why she came—to tell me.”

“You don't think her capable of engineering a trap to lure you out of hiding?”

Ron felt his temper flare, but he kept it in check. “Look, I know you don't like her. I don't blame you for that. But you've only seen her at her very worst. She's much more than that, and she's remembered it now. So cut her a bit of slack, yeah? And between you and me, she's much better to have as a friend than an enemy.”

Snape bared his teeth. “I do not need friends like that.”

“Didn't say you did,” said Ron crossly. “By the way, when you were gone, Aquilina broke into your office to get the Sarpiero and she told me to read this,” he said, holding aloft _Pascentia's Passion_.

“That's a signed first edition,” said Snape hotly. “If you so much as dog-ear a page—“

“I know!” shouted Ron. “I'm not an idiot! Can I go home or not?”

“Wouldn't want to keep mummy waiting,” said Snape nastily.

It was only memories of similar barbs from Hermione that kept him from rising to Snape's bait. Mustering what little dignity he could, Ron tucked the Howser under his arm and stalked out the front door without a word.

123454321

Ron's greeting at the Burrow had been simultaneously satisfying and not. It wasn't that Mum and Dad weren't glad to see him. Mum cried twice as hard as she'd been crying, and Dad eagerly pumped his hand up and down in greeting for an awkward length of time. But he hardly had time to offer his condolences before George arrived and immediately started having a go at Ron over going into hiding. Fortunately, Ron was saved from having to defends his actions by Victoire's head appearing in the fireplace, and she was followed through by Bill, who was holding a squalling Dominique, and Fleur, who was expecting another baby in the spring and looked decidedly green about the gills.

Bill handed Dominique off to Ron, who stopped crying for long enough to entwine her small fingers securely in his beard, and escorted his wife to the toilet with practised ease. Mum clucked her tongue sympathetically and commented that she'd been similarly ill when she was carrying the twins.

Ron couldn't contain a snort, which did not go unnoticed by George, who gave Ron a look that promised Ron would regret laughing. Of course, mentioning the twins set Mum off on another crying jag, and they each assumed their usual comforting roles: Dad holding her hand and murmuring comforting nonsense, Bill fixing the tea, George making a joke, and Ron rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades whilst attempting to keep Dominique from yanking on his beard.

By the time Mum had calmed down enough to focus on making supper, Ron had retreated to his old room, which made him think wistfully of Diagon Alley. His bedsit was nothing to write home about, but the shelves at Palindrome were part of him as he was now, rather than part of to Ron-that-was, whose favourite comic book was Martin Miggs and who fell asleep in this very room dreaming of Hermione Granger. The shop would never be filled with the smell of Mum's cooking, of course, but it was a place he could be what he wanted and read what he wanted without deference to anybody else, Oglethorpe's laws notwithstanding, and that was something that he found himself craving.

He glanced regretfully at the purple spine of _Pascentia's Passion_ , which was tucked into his rucksack. If anybody found it, no matter what Snape said, he was in for it. He tamped down a flare of annoyance over the lack of privacy as he Disillusioned the rucksack and slid it beneath his bed. The Burrow simply wasn't his home any more, and that realisation didn't make him feel nearly as sad as he thought it would.

Ron watched the sun sink below the horizon until he heard Dad calling all of them to supper.

Ginny and Charlie had arrived by the time Ron had washed his hands, and the meal was chaotic enough that Ron's silence wasn't noticed. Having been the centre of the family's attention via Howler following his break-up with Hermione, Ron didn't miss it one bit.

Thankfully, everybody went to bed at a reasonable hour, and after locking his door with the powerful spell that Snape taught him to use on the shop, Ron pulled _Pascentia's Passion_ from its hiding place. 

He was surprised to find that the book wasn't only signed by Henrietta Howser, it was personalized.

_Dearest Severus,_  
Scars are not reminders that we can be hurt, but rather that we can heal.  
Love always,  
Henrietta 

Ron made a face, turned the page, and promptly forgot about the inscription as he was carried away by the luminous beauty of the art and the story of a Muggleborn shepherdess who caught the eye of a magical Proconsul. The hectic day had taken its toll, and he was only able to get a few pages in before he felt his eyelids begin to droop. But his dreams were sweet and shaded in the colours of wild flowers. Unfortunately, they came to an abrupt end when Victoire threw a tantrum over wanting to wear robes that hadn't been packed. Ron sighed and went to queue for the toilet.

Conversation over breakfast was tense, except for Victoire, who was revelling in her uncles' and aunts' attention while Bill tried to get her to eat. The adults pretended not to be watching the hand of the clock that bore Percy's name.

At nine o'clock sharp, his hand moved from “PRISON” to “WITH FRIENDS.”

“That's odd,” said Dad.

“Not really,” said Ron, who had half expected the hand to move to “MORTAL PERIL.” “Hermione's leading the questioning.”

“Isn't that a conflict of interest?” asked Charlie.

“Probably,” said Ron. “But she's also the best they've got. If anybody can get to the bottom of all this, it's her.”

“Uncle Ron's in luuuuuuurve with Auntie Hermione,” said Victoire.

“Hush, Victoire,” said Fleur, shooting Ron an apologetic look.

Ron shrugged. “Sorry Vicky,” he said, ruffling Victoire's strawberry blonde hair. “You're going to have to wait for Auntie Ginny to get married instead.”

“As if that's going to happen anytime soon,” said Ginny.

Victoire made a face and curled up in George's lap.

“Have you heard anything from Audrey today, Mum?” Ginny asked as Mum set down an enormous dish of bacon on the sideboard.

“She said she didn't need anything, the poor dear,” said Mum. “I don't like them being all the way up in Durham. They should have stayed closer. Little Molly and Lucy could have spent this time with their cousins.”

“Woocy!” shouted Dominique from her grandfather's lap.

“I don't blame her for wanting to get away,” said George, levitating several pieces of bacon towards himself. “I saw Percy last week and he looked awful. Worse than Ickle Ronniekins with black hair, even.”

Mum flicked her wand at the bacon, which landed neatly on a plate that she handed to George. “That's enough of that. And whatever was troubling Percy, we know it wasn't because he hexed anybody.”

“Well, they'll have this cleared up in less than an hour,” said Dad.

“Less, unless Hermione decides to find out if Percy has any overdue library books,” said Ron.

“Or knows where you've been hiding all this time,” said George.

The table fell silent, and Ron sighed inwardly.

“She knows.”

George reached around Charlie and rapped his knuckles on Ron's head. “Sounds like it's in one piece. I'm surprised.”

To Ron's delight, Charlie knocked George's arm back. “Is it really any of your business?”

“She came round three times to badger me, so yeah, she made it my business,” said George. “Not that he told his own family anything.”

“With the number of Howlers the lot of you sent, do you blame me?” asked Ron.

Mum looked a bit sheepish. “We thought you were hiding because you'd done something foolish.”

“Thanks very much for the credit,” said Ron, irritably.

“Well, you did quit your job without notice,” said Ginny. “That's fairly high on the foolishness scale.”

“Only if it were a job I wanted to go back to,” said Ron tightly. “I'm happier where I am now.”

'Where exactly are you without Hermione to tell you how to wipe your arse?” asked George.

“Enough, George!” said Mum sharply.

Ron glanced at the rest of his family, and was surprised to find expressions of concern rather than judgement on their faces. “I'm better,” he said, and the truth of the statement brought an unexpected smile to his face.

“I'm dead impressed with the disguise,” said Bill, giving Ron a ghost of a smile.

Ron nearly scowled at Bill before he realised his brother was being serious. “Thanks,” he said, ears burning.

“Perce won't like the dark hair,” remarked Charlie.

The table stilled.

“You don't think so?” asked Ginny in an artificially airy sort of way. “I like it.”

“I mean, he won't like it because now he's got competition for being the black sheep of the family,” said Charlie.

As pitiful as the joke was, it still made everyone laugh.

They ate. They waited.

123454321

At ten minutes before five o'clock that evening, Ron Apparated to Diagon Alley for his late shift. To his surprise, there was a handwritten sign in the window that said Palindrome would be closing at five.

“We're closing at five? You might've told me,” he said, bringing the sign in to the counter where Snape was making notes in the ledger.

Snape looked up at him with an unreadable expression. “I didn't believe you were available to work.”

“I always work the late shift on Thursday. And they let Percy go. He didn't do it. Harry came by to tell us even before the interrogation was over.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” said Snape. “In that case, I suppose our doors should remain open. Aquilina was in earlier asking after you.”

“Did she like the Sarpiero?”

“Undoubtedly. But she was more interested in finding out how you were liking the Howser.”

“We had a full house at Mum and Dad's, so I didn't get to read much. But I like it a lot so far.”

“Aquilina introduced me to Howser many years ago,” said Snape.

“Is that when she signed your book?”

“I meant that Aquilina introduced me to Howser's work,” said Snape, sounding uncharacteristically awkward. “I didn't recommend that particular book to you because I didn't wish to suggest anything about your previous relationship with Miss Granger.”

“Right,” said Ron, wondering what all this was about. “Thanks?”

“I hope it's your taste,” said Snape, clearing his throat. “I will be in my office for the next hour if you need anything.”

“Great. Anything special arrive while I was out?”

“Yes, the Perry and Arthur are both in.”

“Do you want me to owl Anton and Celeste?”

“I've done that already.”

“Brilliant. Thanks for that, sir.”

“You're welcome, Weasley.”

The ladder descended from the ceiling, and Snape began to climb up when the front door opened to reveal Hermione, her face pale and eyes red.

“I'm sorry,” she said, looking from Snape to Ron and back to Snape again. “I know I can't keep showing up like this, but I don't know who else to talk to.”

Ron exited the counter, took Hermione's trembling hand, and led her to the reading area. “What's happened?”

“I found the serial hexer.”

Her downcast expression set off alarm bells in Ron's head, but he kept the pressure on her hand steady. “Harry said it wasn't Percy.”

“It wasn't,” said Hermione. “After everyone else had left and we were waiting for the Veritaserum to wear off, I asked after Percy's family. I didn't mean anything by it, I was just being polite. But that's how I found out.”

Ron saw Snape approach them out of the corner of his eye. “Found out what, Miss Granger?” he asked, his voice neutral.

“They were going to have another baby,” said Hermione, her voice hoarse, “but they lost it. Audrey's been in an awful state ever since, having these horrible fits of jealousy, and Percy caught her hurting herself and healing it up again so the girls wouldn't find out. Percy tried to get her to go to St. Mungo's for help, but she won't go. It wasn't until Thurston and Hernandez presented Percy with the evidence against him that he realised that Audrey was following him and hexing the women he spoke to.”

“Merlin,” whispered Ron.

“I reported it to Chatsworth,” said Hermione haltingly. “I had to. She's dangerous. But I gave Percy a head start. If anyone finds out, I could be sacked permanently.”

“You did the right thing,” said Ron.

“Of course you'd say that, she's your sister-in-law,” snapped Hermione.

“Then let me assure you that you did the right thing,” said Snape.

Hermione recoiled from the hand he laid on her shoulder. “How can you say that? I may have facilitated the escape of an extremely dangerous fugitive. She was an Unspeakable, she knows curses that no-one else does.”

“You gave the husband of a very sick woman the opportunity to get her the help she needs,” said Snape. “Tell me, Miss Granger, what would happen if the Aurors got to her before her husband did?”

Hermione winced. “There would be a horrible fight.”

“Someone would probably get killed,” said Ron. “And if she's with the girls...” he shuddered.

“There is no guarantee that Mr. Weasley will be able to convince his wife to go into custody, but there is a far greater chance of a peaceful result, thanks to your actions. Or inaction, as the case may be.”

“I should do something to help,” said Hermione, rising suddenly.

“What, you want to get hexed, too?” asked Ron. “Stay here. You've done what you could. I'll go.”

“Unless what your brother needs isn't moral support,” said Snape.

“What are you suggesting?” asked Hermione, looking sharply at him.

“Mr. Weasley, that is, Ron, has become an invaluable employee,” said Snape. “I do not wish to put him into harm's way. You both know that I possess certain skills that may prove invaluable should his sister-in-law be intractable. If you can tell me where to start looking for her, I will go.”

Ron wasn't certain what surprised him the most, that Snape was offering to help his family find Audrey, that he'd called Ron by his Christian name, or that he considered Ron to be invaluable. Hermione was equally dumbstruck.

“I cannot condone vigilante justice,” said Hermione, finding her voice at last.

“I do not wish to harm her, merely to prevent her from harming others. That isn't vigilante justice, it's mercy.”

Snape caught Ron's eye, and he nodded. “I'll send a Patronus so Percy knows you're coming.”

He closed his eyes, thought of the day Snape hired him, and a small silver dog came running out of the tip of his wand, tail awag and barking silently in excitement.

“Hey Perce,” Ron said to it, “I'm sending a friend who can help. Don't worry, he'll find her and get her the help she needs. Hope you're okay.”

The dog span in circles and dashed off into the distance.

“How are you going to find him?” Hermione asked Snape.

Snape's smile was at least half grimace. “Trade secret.” He opened the door of the shop and paused. “It appears that we will be closing at five after all. There is no need to wait for my return.”

He made a downward arc with his wand and flew up into the sky, looking oddly bereft without his black robes flapping behind him.

Ron swore, awestruck. “I forgot he could do that.”

Hermione was staring up into the falling dusk. “I didn't.”

“Well, I'd better close up, then,” said Ron, lowering the shades on the door and in the front window. “I think I'll stay a while, though.”

“He said we didn't need to wait,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, well he didn't need to go help my daft brother track down my stark raving mad sister-in-law,” said Ron gruffly, “but he did anyway. Are you ready for the third volume of _Delphinia_?”

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink. “Yes.”

“You won't arrest me on Oglethorpe if I let you read it here?”

“The shop's closed. You're in the clear.”

“Good,” said Ron, ducking into the back room for the book. “You're going to love the garden scene. Delphinia and Peasblossom catch Jasmine and Abelard shagging by the fountain and have a lot of fun watching them through the hedge.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Thanks for spoiling that for me.”

“Pfft, it's in the first chapter,” said Ron, handing her the book. “There's loads more.”

He sat down in the chair opposite Hermione and pulled out his copy of _Pascentia's Passion_.

“What's that you're reading?”

“One of Snape's favourites,” said Ron. “Autographed and everything.”

Hermione smirked at him. “You have to admit, I was right.”

“What about?”

“Snape absolutely fancies you.”

“You've got a weird idea of what fancying involves,” said Ron.

“Who's to blame for that?” asked Hermione, without real venom.

Ron shrugged. “He's got a saving-people thing, just like Harry. Not that I'm daft enough to say that to his face. Besides,” he said, showing her the inscription from Henrietta Howser. “Snape likes his ladies, and apparently some of them like him back.”

Hermione took the book and flipped through it. “She's quite talented.”

“I reckon talent's what he fancies more than just knowing things,” said Ron.

“That explains why he's so awful to me,” said Hermione, handing Ron the book. “I think I preferred him when he was making fun of my teeth in Potions.”

“I asked him about that once. Not the beaver-teeth incident exactly, but why he acted the way he did at Hogwarts. Obviously, he was under a lot of strain at the time, but he also said that scars were necessary armour.”

“Hard to reconcile that with what he's doing now, isn't it?” she asked.

“He also said that fantasy's a tool for healing,” said Ron, opening his book and flipping gently to his bookmark.

“I don't know that I want to go back to being soft.”

“It is possible to be both hard and soft,” said Ron. He realised his unfortunate phrasing immediately, and sniggered.

Hermione tutted at him and opened her book.

Ron cast one last glance at her before he started reading in earnest. Her face had regained its usual colour, and her shoulders were no longer in danger of merging with her ears—she was going to be all right.

He only hoped Percy's family and Snape would be, too.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Ron jerked awake suddenly and found himself slumped in his chair in the reading area, stiff and slightly drool-crusted. He stretched his shoulders, wiped his face with the sleeve of his robes, and pulled out his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. Snape had been gone for almost five hours.

Hermione's bag was by the chair in which she'd been sitting, but she was nowhere to be seen. He was about to call her name, when he heard someone moving in the back room. Perhaps she'd finished _Delphinia in Bloom_ and was looking for more of Inge Zoblansky's work?

Ron rose, knees cracking, and was about to enter the back room when he heard what was distinctly a moan and a rustle of robes. He froze, and made his way silently to the hole he'd drilled for the use of his Extendable Ears. Ever since Hermione and Snape's fight, Ron had made a habit of keeping a set of Extendable Eyes in the same pouch as the Extendable Ears. He fumbled with the pouch, slid the flesh-coloured Ear strings inside the thicker white Eye tubes, and threaded them through the hole in the wall.

He propped the Extendable Eyepieces upon his nose, and his field of vision was filled with the sight of Hermione backed against the bookshelf opposite, with her robes rucked up around her hips and her wand hand moving up and down at the junction of her bare legs.

Through the Extendable Ears, which hung down from the eyepiece frames, he could just make out a high-pitched droning sound, and it was with considerable shock that he recognised the sound as a Vibratus Charm, one that Fred and George had taught him one summer and told him how it could be used by both wizards and witches to see to their intimate needs.

Ron wasn't certain what the etiquette of spying on one's ex-girlfriend having a wank was, especially when said wank was occurring at one's workplace, but unless Snape returned suddenly, he couldn't think of any reason that he should interrupt her. He probably shouldn't be watching, but the gnome was already out of that hole.

Hermione made a sudden movement with her free hand, and Ron realised that she was using it to Levitate and turn pages of the final volume of _Delphinia_ , which was bobbing in the air obediently to her left. Ron suppressed a chuckle. Of course Hermione would use powerful magic to assist her tossing off.

Still, he had to admit that he was far from unmoved by the sight. For all that he and Hermione had once engaged in regular and sometimes quite raucous sex, as far as he knew, neither of them had ever seen the other masturbate. And now that he was watching it, he realised that he had been missing out. He cupped his hard cock through his trousers and squeezed, stifling a groan.

As if encouraged by the sound he hadn't made, Hermione threw her head back against the shelf of books behind her, panting and tilting her hips forward to make contact with the buzzing handle of her wand. She took a shuddering breath and raised her head to look at the pictures that had captured her imagination, her eyes vague and heavy-lidded, and her tongue darted out to moisten her reddened lips.

Abandoning all pretence of simply watching, Ron undid his trousers, pushed down his pants, and wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking hard. He managed to stifle his own groans in order to hear her gasping, and she began to rock herself against her wand.

Ron matched her increasing speed, tugging his bollocks gently with his other hand and and running his thumb over the crown on every upstroke. Then suddenly, Hermione's hand stuttered in its rhythm, and Ron felt his sac tighten in sympathy.

Her eyes flew wide open as her body went rigid, curling in on itself as she climaxed with a stuttering groan. The book fell to the floor with a surprisingly loud thump, which made Ron realise how quiet she'd been.

And then she looked straight at the spyhole through which he was watching and made a purring sound that went straight to Ron's bollocks.

Ron's climax hit him like the Knight Bus. He mashed his lips together between his teeth to keep from shouting, and he couldn't stop the copiousness that erupted from his cock and narrowly missed painting stripes on several shelves of _Wonder Witch_ comics.

After coming for what seemed like an age, the black patches dancing in his peripheral vision cleared enough for him to see Hermione slide bonelessly to the floor, her wand still buzzing.

Panting and flushed, Ron cast several rounds of _Scourgify_ at the floor and himself before tucking his still-twitching member into his pants and fastening his trousers. He quietly withdrew the Extendable Eyes and Ears from his peep hole and tiptoed over to the reading area, where he resumed his former position in the chair and pretended to be asleep.

After several minutes, he heard Hermione shuffle back into the main room and sit down with a contented sigh.

He opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said, blinking as if to clear them.

“Hey yourself,” she replied.

“What time is it?”

“It's past ten,” she said. “I should probably go. I've got a meeting with Chatsworth tomorrow.”

“Yeah, all right,” said Ron, stretching.

“Let me know when you hear anything,” said Hermione.

“You'll probably know before I do,” said Ron.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Take care of yourself, Ron.”

A giggle threatened to escape along with the statement that he'd already taken care of himself. Instead, he managed to keep his face sleepy looking as he patted her shoulder. “You too.”

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The next time Ron awoke, it was to the sound of Snape fumbling with the key to the shop door.

Ron shot out of his chair and went to withdraw the bolt.

Snape looked awful, haggard and muddy. “I told you to go home.”

“No, you said I didn't have to wait,” said Ron, ushering him over to the sitting area. “I wanted to.”

Snape looked up at him. “Your sister-in-law is at St. Mungo's now.”

“Will she be all right?”

“Only time will tell. We managed to bring her in without any serious casualties.”

“Thank Merlin,” said Ron, feeling a knot in his stomach unravel. “Fancy a cuppa? Something stronger?”

“The Blishen's, I believe,” said Snape.

Ron fetched the bottle of firewhisky and glasses from their hiding spot behind the counter and poured the drinks.

Snape threw his back with a vindictive swallow.

Ron put his hand on Snape's shoulder. “Are you all right, sir?”

Snape glanced at Ron's hand but made no sign that the contact was unwelcome. “I will be fine. Thankfully, your eldest brother prevented the worst of the damage.”

Ron sent a silent thank-you to Bill. “Did you get to her before the Aurors did?”

“Barely,” said Snape. “Your sister-in-law is a formidable woman.”

“She was an Unspeakable.”

“I meant the former Miss Delacour. She was the one that convinced Audrey Weasley to give herself up.”

Ron's jaw dropped. “Bill let Fleur go? In her condition?”

“Thank the powers he did,” said Snape, giving Ron a quelling scowl. “No-one else could have ended the situation without bloodshed or worse.”

Ron belatedly realised Snape's hands were shaking, and his stomach clenched as he realised what it probably meant. “Another firewhisky?”

“No,” said Snape, rising and flexing his hands.

“Probably a good idea. Hermione ached for days after she was hit with Cruciatus,” said Ron “Best not to add a hangover to the mix.”

Snape looked at him sharply, and Ron met his gaze with a shrug. It wasn't as if either of them had a monopoly on being tortured.

“You had better go home,” said Snape, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward the back room. “I can finish up here.”

“You're a mess,” said Ron, following him to the doorway. “There's not much to do here. You go home.”

“I'd rather stay,” said Snape, ducking between the shelves. “Sleep is unlikely. Weasley?”

“What?”

“Did Granger stay here with you?”

There was something funny about Snape's voice, but Ron had no idea what it meant. “Yeah, she left a little after ten. How did you know?”

To his surprise Snape came striding towards him, his back ramrod straight and a furious look on his face. “When were you planning to tell me the two of you had rekindled your relationship?”

“We didn't. We haven't,” said Ron, trying to ignore the spike of panic that drove through him. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“It is very much my business if I find my back room reeking of sex.”

Ron gulped and tried not to be obvious about sniffing the air. “You can smell it?”

“It's not subtle,” said Snape, bearing down on him.

Ron braced himself for some sort of impact, a blow, a spell, and closed his eyes.

“Odd,” said Snape. Ron opened his eyes to find Snape standing uncomfortably close to him. “I don't smell it on you.”

“That's because she got excited by something she read _Delphinia in Bloom_ and went in the back room while she thought I was asleep,” said Ron.

Snape shot him a penetrating look. “And you weren't?”

Ron wasn't sure if he could say anything else without admitting that he'd taken himself in hand or revealing his means of spying on the back room, but he tried anyway. “I heard something and went to investigate, that's all. I left the room as soon as I realised what she was doing.”

“I see,” said Snape, sounding no less disapproving.

“I saw,” said Ron, clearing his throat. “I mean, I think she wanted to be seen.”

“And you liked watching,” said Snape.

“Yeah, I did,” said Ron, feeling his cheeks burn.

“Go home, Weasley,” said Snape, turning his back on Ron. “I”ll see you tomorrow at five.”

“I'll be at my parents'. Let me know if you need me earlier,” said Ron.

“I won't.”

The dismissal stung, but Ron's humiliation faded when he caught sight of the mud smeared all over the back of Snape's robe. “Thanks again for going after Audrey, sir. I'm glad everybody's all right. Or will be.”

“You're welcome,” said Snape, his voice flat.

On impluse, Ron rubbed several small circles on Snape's back before squeezing his shoulder and leaving. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Weasley.”

His voice was as weary as Ron had ever heard it.

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By the time Ron's Friday night shift rolled around, he was pathetically grateful for an excuse to leave the Burrow. It was a completely full house, nobody had slept much the night before, and everybody was tiptoeing around Percy, who snapped at them all over lunch and retreated to Dad's tinkering shed. Bill and Fleur left with their girls shortly thereafter, Charlie caught an international Portkey back to Wuyuan, where he was doing a breeding survey of Chinese Fireballs, and Ginny had to report to practice or risk being left off the roster for tomorrow's match at Caerphilly.

Mum must have made one of her decrees forbidding the family from discussing the events of last night, because George didn't even give him a hard time about not joining the search party for Audrey, though Bill had braved Mum's wrath to take Ron aside privately and thank him for sending Snape to help. Ron also managed to get some of the details from Charlie while they were de-gnoming the garden, namely that Ron's suspicion about the Cruciatus curse was correct and that they might never have found Audrey without Snape. Mum clearly knew what had happened, since she gave Ron an extra helping of mashed potatoes and beamed at him fiercely as she kissed him goodbye.

When he got to Palindrome, he was surprised to find Hermione there speaking with Snape in what appeared to be a civilised, if strained manner.

“Oh Ron, I'm so glad you're early,” she said, wrapping her arms around him in the way she always did when she wanted to convince herself that he was still in one piece.

“Geroff, Hermione,” said Ron, flushing. “I was here all night, it's not as if I was in any danger.”

“Sorry.” Hermione seemed slightly embarrassed by her own response, and gave Snape a chagrined look. “I was just telling Severus about what happened at work.”

Ron blinked at her casual use of Snape's name. Hermione clearly mistook the source of his surprise and endeavoured to explain. “Chatsworth reinstated me. But of course they sent everybody involved with the serial hexer case home to rest, so I don't actually start until Monday.”

“Who're they replacing me with, then? Someone with big feet, I hope, since he's got enormous shoes to fill.”

“I wouldn't worry,” said Hermione drily. “I'm partnered with Harry for the time being.”

“Really?” Ron couldn't help grinning. “That's fantastic!”

“It's a good thing I wasn't used to getting credit for my own work,” said Hermione. “Harry farts, and the Ministry awards him a medal for his contributions to the Wizarding World.”

Ron glared at Snape, who was obviously trying not to snicker.

“That's not fair,” said Ron. “That sort of thing bothers Harry as much as it bothers you.”

“Of course,” said Hermione, sounding none too happy.

“What, you don't think he'll be a good partner for you? It's perfect. You're brilliant-but-scary, and he's thick-but-has-moral-fibre.”

“We'll see,” said Hermione, who appeared to be slightly mollified. “Anyway, thank you for the book, Severus. I'm afraid I won't have as much time to read now that I'm starting up work again.”

“You might,” said Ron. “Harry won't let you bully him into looking the other way when you try to sneak files home.”

Hermione scowled at him. “You weren't this cheeky before.”

“No,” said Ron, grinning in spite of himself. “But I got better.”

Hermione tutted as she went out the door.

When the door closed behind her, Ron glanced at Snape, who was making a note in the ledger.

“Nice to see you two getting on,” remarked Ron, straightening up the _Lark and Lachlan_ books, which had been picked over at some point during the day.

“Hardly,” said Snape, not raising his head. “She merely wished to reassure me with exaggerated earnestness and courtesy that she intended to keep my role in yesterday's fiasco from the other Aurors.”

“That's good of her,” said Ron.

Snape snorted. “If not for her careless questioning and mindless adherence to rules and regulations, we needn't have been in such a rush to find Mrs. Weasley. Someone could have been killed by her rash behaviour.”

“Maybe she's learned a lesson from all this.”

“Unless that lesson was written into a book, I highly doubt it.”

“Well, she's nearly done with _Delphinia in Bloom_ ,” said Ron. “Maybe she's taken Peaseblossom's parable about truth, necessity, and kindness to heart.”

“It's likely she got more out of the fountain scene if your supposition about her exhibitionist tendencies is correct.”

“Well, Peaseblossom was being spied on by Abelard at the time, so one can hope.”

Snape lifted his head. “Hope is dangerous.”

“So's prejudice,” said Ron. “Hope's much nicer, though.”

Snape looked as though he wanted to sneer or make some cutting remark, but instead he closed the ledger and summoned the ladder to his office.

“Sir, if you don't mind my asking, why bother with the ladder when you could just fly up?”

“I don't do it for the simple fact that I don't enjoy flying without a broomstick,” said Snape. “It triggers my acrophobia.”

Ron was simultaneously struck by how horrid it must have been for Snape to have to fly hither and thither on Voldemort's command and how remarkable it was that he'd been willing to do something he hated in order to help Ron's family.

“Have a good night, sir.”

“And you, Weasley. Don't burn the shop down while I'm gone,” said Snape gruffly.

“Thanks, sir,” said Ron, grinning. “I'll try.”

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Over the next few weeks, Ron began to grow used to the sight of Hermione and Snape sniping at one another when he came in to work his late shifts. Still, the ledger showed she wasn't just spoiling for a fight. Between jabs about one another's motivations, age, and intellectual capacity, Snape managed to sell her more than a few works from the back room, though no Sarpiero, for obvious reasons.

At night, Ron read the latest deliveries to the shop—someone had to inspect them to make sure they were getting good prints from the publishers—and a chapter or two of _Pascentia's Passion_ , which, he realised, he didn't particularly want to end. He could see where the story was going and knew it wasn't going to be happily ever after. Thus, he was determined to get as much pleasure as his stamina allowed out of what remained. The beautiful illustrations had grown through the wildflowers of spring, the golden-green of summer, and the fiery oranges and reds of high autumn. Now bare branches could be seen curving in the margins, and the whitening backgrounds spoke of coming frost.

One Sunday after his late shift, Ron found himself sniffling at a particularly tender scene in the hayloft of a pegasus stable, which ended with Pascentia and Antonius holding one another, breathless from lovemaking, their faces thrown into relief by the candle inside Pascentia's lantern. But the darkness at the edges of the panel had spread to their faces, and there was only so much a single candle could do against it. But it didn't make their faces in light of the candle any less beautiful, nor Pascentia's kiss on Antonius's forehead less gentle.

Ron closed the book, extinguished the light, and let the tears fall.

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The next morning, Ron conjured a pair of scissors and began to trim his beard. He wasn't planning to do away with it altogether, but his fingers clearly had minds of their own, and before he knew it, he could see the side of his chin peeking through the stubble. He sighed and fetched his wand, briefly considering a goatee before shaving the beard off completely, though he kept the sideburns. They reminded him of Grandfather Septimus.

It was strange to see his face in the mirror again, after weeks of hiding it. And now that he'd done that, the black coiffure looked even more ridiculous. He muttered a spell, which returned his hair to its natural shade, and cast _Scourgify_ on his head to rid himself of the sticky pomade. He was dismayed to find that his hair now hung down in his eyes and looked horribly shaggy.

He pulled out his watch. The barber shop opened in ten minutes. Ron brushed his hair back from his face and put the bowler on top of it. He left the golden pince-nez on his night table.

Once the barber had had his way with Ron's hair and sideburns, which looked at least as good as Harry's new haircut as far as Ron was concerned, he wandered down Diagon Alley and bought a chip butty with brown ale at the Leaky Cauldron, where he ran into Terry Boot and exchanged delightfully bland pleasantries. From the window of the Leaky Cauldron, he could just see the storefront of Palindrome, and he wondered what Snape was up to.

When he'd finished lunch, Ron wandered over to the shop, where he found Snape bent over a book on the counter and arguing something with Hermione. They both looked up as the bell over the door announced his arrival. He felt a smirk lift the corner of his mouth at Hermione's double-take.

“Well,” she said. “That's definitely an improvement.”

“Thanks,” said Ron. “You've not got the day off, have you?”

“No, just a long lunch,” said Hermione. “We had an early debrief that went on forever, so Chatsworth said he didn't want to see us until handing out assignments this afternoon.”

“And you didn't seize the opportunity to get some work done?”

Hermione looked slightly sheepish. “Harry locks up our case files when we're not working on them together. I complained to Chatsworth, but he agrees with Harry.”

“Forcing you to eat properly and rest, must be awful,” said Ron with mock sympathy. He wished he'd thought of locking up the case files, but Hermione would have nagged him until he gave up the key.

“You're one to talk,” said Hermione. “Aren't you supposed to have Mondays off?”

“I was in the neighbourhood.”

“You live on Diagon Alley. You're always in the neighbourhood. At least I'm here to pick up a book.”

“What've you got?” asked Ron, sitting down in the other chair.

“ _The Travels of Horatio and Hester_ ,” she said, holding up the plain volume. “Have you read it?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, hoping she wouldn't notice his ears turning red.

“I believe we were raided by the constabulary over a misunderstanding involving that particular book,” said Snape silkily.

“So you admit that Ron was reading it,” said Hermione, grinning fiercely.

“Hardly. I merely note its physical similarities with a number of other books for sale in this room. There are few who would not forgive your error.”

“I'll bet I can think of one,” muttered Ron as the bell rang and a middle-aged couple entered the shop. Snape moved to intercept them.

“I had better go,” said Hermione, slipping the book into her bag. “I need to talk to Vandachari before we get our next assignments. Oh and Ron, Harry and I are going out for drinks on Wednesday after work. Care to join us?”

“Sure, I'm done here at five,” said Ron, warmth spreading through him at the thought of getting together with his best mates without having to worry about Hermione working them both into exhaustion.

“Harry said there was a quiet place on Knockturn Alley?”

“Yeah, I know the one. See you then!”

Hermione darted in to kiss his cheek before she left.

Snape had sent the couple off in the direction of the children's comics and was lurking behind the counter with a deliberately bland expression on his face.

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Weasley?” he asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” said Ron.

“I thought you already were.”

“I mean the future.”

“Beyond drinks with your little friends on Wednesday?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, ignoring Snape's grumping. “Look, I love working here, but let's be honest. I can't be assistant shopkeeper forever. Merlin willing, I'm going to need to help support a family one day.”

Snape crossed his arms. “I see. When will you be leaving?”

“That's just it. I don't want to leave. Aquilina said a while back that Hogsmeade might be a good place, but you said you didn't want to run a shop there. The thing is, I do.”

“I fail to see how that isn't leaving.”

“I think we should open Palindrome North in Hogsmeade. During the school year, I'd run the place, and I'd work here over Christmas and Easter hols and over the summer when Diagon Alley is the busiest.”

“In case you hadn't noticed, comic books in general are not a high-margin commodity,” said Snape. “I haven't the capital on hand to purchase the inventory required to fill a second location.”

Ron reached into his robes and pulled out one of his treasures he'd taken from the Burrow on his last visit: _Wonder Witch #1_ . “Do you think you could get a fair price for it?”

Snape's eyes widened. “Where did you get this?”

“It was my grandfather's. It was in a box of his old comics that Dad gave me when I turned ten.”

“Respectable provenance,” said Snape, lifting the book with reverent fingers. “Not mint, but in good condition. Adequate protection spell. Have you any idea what this is worth?”

“The inventory of a small comics shop in Hogsmeade?”

“Much more than that,” said Snape, gently laying book on the counter between them. “My question for you is why you've brought it here.”

“Sorry? ”

“With a property as popular as _Wonder Witch_ , you could simply advertise for a buyer in the _Prophet_ and open the store in Hogsmeade on your own. You don't need my blessing, and you certainly don't need my expertise.”

“I'd like them all the same.”

Snape turned away suddenly, his hand at his throat. “Keep your book, Weasley,” he said. “You'll want it as collateral.”

Ron frowned. “Collateral for what?”

He turned to face Ron, and Ron was shocked to see a small but genuine smile on his face. “For the business loan I'm going to give you, to be paid back with interest, plus a modest franchise fee for using the Palindrome name.”

Once he remembered to breathe again, Ron realised Snape was waiting for a response. “I thought comics weren't a high-margin commodity.”

“The dreck you'll be selling to Hogwarts students isn't. However, you're not the only person with rare titles in his personal collection, and mine have the advantage of being free from sentimental ties.”

“ _Pascentia's Passion_ notwithstanding,” said Ron, who immediately regretted it when Snape's shoulders stiffened.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Ron, flushing. “It's none of my business.”

“That's right,” said Snape, his voice sharp. But he took a breath and placed his hands on the counter. “But someone I choose to make my business partner should have the perspicacity to infer why I might not wish to sell that particular volume.”

Ron felt a thrill go through him. Snape's actual business partner? But no, this was a test. He swallowed hard and fixed in his mind's eye the inscription he found himself re-reading every time he opened the book.

_Scars are not reminders that we can be hurt, but rather that we can heal._  
Love always,  
Henrietta 

Always.

That was the word Harry had whispered the night he told Ron and Hermione about what he'd seen in Snape's Pensieve; that Snape and Harry's mum had been best friends until ideology and romance had come between them. But Harry's mum and Snape had been children at the time, there was no romantic love of the sort in _Pascentia's Passion_ between them.

Scars.

The sort that Snape bore from his brush with Nagini. The sort that an old friend like Aquilina couldn't have convinced him were worth looking past. But someone talented and brilliant like Henrietta Howser might have done.

Love.

“You and Henrietta,” said Ron at last.

“For a time,” said Snape.

Ron let the truth settle on him and tried not to be revolted by the idea that some of Pascentia and Antonius's intimate moments might have been based on actual encounters between the Howser and Snape. It was less difficult than he had imagined.

“Are you all right with people reading that sort of thing?”

“Very few possess the knowledge required to understand precisely what the book contains,” said Snape, sounding smug. “What notoriety the book has achieved was on its own considerable merits, not speculation over the author's private affairs.”

“Just to be safe, I wouldn't let Hermione read it,” said Ron. “You'd never hear the end of it.”

Snape's lips contracted in a moue of distaste. “Agreed.”

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The next day, Ron Apparated to Hogsmeade to go through his list of vacant properties where he might set up the new shop. Snow was falling lightly in the village, and the brisk air felt wonderful in his lungs. Beyond the low roofs of the village, he could make out the towers of Hogwarts castle, and it filled him with giddy glee to know that he would be living here, away from the endless bustle of London, running his very own shop. He was grinning so broadly that passers-by were beginning to give him strange looks.

Ron meandered down High Street, immediately dismissing a handsome-looking shopfront across the street from Honeyduke's. The last thing he needed was sticky fingers all over the merchandise. He snorted softly to himself, realising how much his thoughts sounded like Snape. Other properties were dismissed for being too large or too near to Tomes and Scrolls, who might be as suspicious of the new shop as Flourish and Blotts had been.

Finally, Ron saw it.

It was a narrow building halfway between the owl office and the Three Broomsticks, with a dilapidated wattle and daub shopfront and a row of modern tiles dangling from the edge of the roof. But in spite of being in terrible trim, the front window was large and would let in plenty of light, the door bore a brass ring that appeared to be at least as old as the town, and through the window that had been cut into in the door, Ron could see dark wood floors stretching back through the space that he knew would shine up beautifully.

He made a note of the listing agent's address and popped into the Three Broomsticks, from which emanated the mouth-watering smell of stew. It was a bit early for lunch, so there were a few tables open, and Ron took one in the corner with his pint. He withdrew a quill and sheet of parchment from his robes and began to compose a letter of inquiry about the property. He was halfway through the letter when he heard someone say his name.

He looked up to find Aquilina standing by his table with a witch whose grizzled curls were piled artfully on top of her head.

“I thought that was you,” said Aquilina. “Nice to see you looking like yourself again.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, standing to greet her. “Care to join me?”

Aquilina beamed. “How lovely of you to ask,” she said, accepting the seat that Ron held out for her.

“This is the young man who works in Severus's shop,” said Aquilina to her friend as Ron held a chair out for her as well. “Weasley, this is my dear friend Henrietta.”

Ron stubbed his toe on the leg of the table and nearly went sprawling. “Henrietta Howser?”

“It's Howser-Burnside now,” said Henrietta nodding her thanks to him as she sat, “but yes.”

“I loved _Pascentia's Passion_ ,” said Ron. “Well, I haven't quite finished it yet. I don't want it to end.”

Henrietta didn't smile with her mouth, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Thank you. That's a lovely thing to say.”

“I recommended it to him,” said Aquilina. “Severus locked his copy up in his office for some reason.”

Henrietta shot an exasperated look at her friend. “Lina, don't embarrass the boy.”

“It's fine,” said Ron.

“What brings you this far north?” asked Aquilina.

“We're opening a second location in Hogsmeade,” said Ron. “Snape agreed to let me run it.”

“Really? How marvellous!” said Aquilina.

“You were the one that gave me the idea, actually,” said Ron, raising his glass in salute.

“How are you and Severus going to divvy up the speciality items?” asked Aquilina.

“Don't be absurd, they can't sell those on High Street,” said Henrietta.

“We sell them on Diagon Alley,” said Ron. “We use an Age Line on the back room.”

“With so many students about, it'll be more bother than its worth,” said Henrietta. “When the parents find out, you'll never hear the end of it.”

“I don't mind that kind of trouble,” said Ron. “I've got used to telling off anybody who'd shame someone for reading dirty books. One of the first things Snape told me when I started working for him was that it was important to respect peoples' reading choices, no matter what.”

“Did he now?” asked Henrietta.

“Our Severus has come along quite nicely,” said Aquilina, giving Henrietta a bland look. “Fairly domesticated he is.”

“Well, that's a shame,” said Henrietta.

Ron nearly choked on his beer.

“You're happy. He's happy. I fail to see the problem,” said Aquilina, taking a sip of her tea, which Madam Rosmerta had just brought.

Ron felt as though two concurrent conversations were happening, and he didn't understand either of them.

“I always was domesticated,” said Henrietta. “He knew I wanted to settle down here. I never meant—“

“You mustn't blame yourself,” said Aquilina. “As if anybody could make Severus Snape do anything he was determined not to do.”

“You're right,” said Henrietta. Turning to Ron, she asked, “Is he seeing anybody?”

This time, Ron really did choke on his beer. “What? I don't know,” he said, coughing. “I don't think so?”

“Pity,” said Henrietta. “What about dangerous hobbies? Dragon husbandry? Werewolf wrestling?”

“No,” said Ron. “Well, not that I know of.”

“Nothing dangerous at all?” asked Henrietta.

“Well, he helped my family out of a sticky situation the other day. He flew and everything.”

“There you have it, Lina,” said Henrietta, smirking.

“I fear I may have misunderstood you, Mr. Weasley,” said Aquilina, with unexpected intensity. “You mean to say that Severus flew? Of his own free will?”

“As if any of us could make him,” said Ron.

“Well, perhaps he's not gone completely soft after all,” said Aquilina with some satisfaction. “It's not a moral judgment, dear,” she said, correctly interpreting the disapproving look on Ron's face. “We want to see Severus happy, and we feared that simply being a kindly purveyor of entertainments who assists the repressed in discovering what waves their wands would never be enough for him. Severus needs something to get the blood flowing.”

“Duelling?” asked Ron.

Both witches cackled. “Of a sort,” said Henrietta.

Aquilina grinned at Henrietta. “I always envied you. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I were forty years younger.”

“You two would have blown up Hogwarts,” said Henrietta. “Now, Mr. Weasley, once we've finished lunch, I insist that you accompany us this afternoon.”

“I really should get back to London,” said Ron.

“Nonsense,” said Aquilina. “You must show me the property you're interested in. I'll tell you if it's suitable and advise you on a fair price.”

“And we can show you some nice vacant or soon-to-be vacant homes, since presumably you're going to be living here as well,” said Henrietta. “I hear Dragon Cottage is going to be on the market soon.”

“And if that isn't sufficient temptation, I'm happy to show you some gems from my book collection,” said Aquilina. “Not even Severus has seen all of them.”

Ron looked from one witch to the other and wondered if Snape had ever successfully said no to either of them. “All right.”

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	4. Chapter 4

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Ron Apparated back to Diagon Alley a few minutes after five and was surprised to find that the door to the store was unlocked and the front room deserted, for all that the “Closed” sign had been placed on the door.

“Hello?” Ron called.

There was no answer. Ron locked the door to the shop and walked over to the counter, where he found the register empty and Snape's cash bag sitting next to it. Weird. Snape wasn't usually careless.

He untied the drawstring to make sure there was actually cash in it when he heard a weird buzzing sound coming from the back room. Ron put his back against the bookshelves and edged over to the doorway that led to the back room. The buzzing was louder here, and Ron belatedly realised that it was become someone had cast _Muffilatio_ on the doorway. Ron glanced around the corner and caught a glimpse of Snape and Hermione, red-faced and toe to toe before he ducked back into the main room.

Ron pulled out his Extendable Eyes and Ears and threaded them through the hole between the bookshelves, hoping that the anti-eavesdropping spell wouldn't be an issue, since it appeared to have been cast on the doorway only. Thankfully, the buzzing was merely background noise, and both Hermione and Snape were shouting, which helped.

“I wouldn't expect you to understand,” Hermione was saying. “You never had to bother with observing niceties.”

“From what I hear, you never bothered with them either, unless you're even more inept with social graces than you are with keeping your personal issues out of your work.”

Hermione laughed nastily. “And you're holding yourself up as a shining example of that?”

“Hardly,” said Snape. “But my motives were never selfish.”

“Harry may have bought into that load of rubbish, but I haven't. Your motives were always selfish! We didn't need guilt to spur us to do the right thing!”

“Do you think because you spent a few months camping that you can compare yourself to me?” asked Snape incredulously.

“Do you think you're the only one that nearly died? The only one who was tortured? And unlike you, I defended Hogwarts in her time of need.”

“I defended Hogwarts every day that I was Headmaster,” spat Snape. “And I've had quite enough of your childish twaddle.”

Ron winced. There was no surer way to anger Hermione than to imply she was too young to understand something. Thurston had found that out the hard way.

“That grates on you, doesn't it?” asked Hermione, baring her teeth. “What you couldn't do when you were needed most. The lives that were lost because you wrongly thought you were smart enough to get yourself out of any situation.”

Snape crossed his arms. “Enough, Granger.”

“You could have stopped it!” shouted Hermione, her hands clenching reflexively. “You should have had a better plan! You should have been better prepared!”

She advanced on Snape with her fists raised. “Nothing to say in your defence?” she asked, her voice breaking. “The one they trusted. The one who let everybody down.”

“There is no defence,” Snape said, taking Hermione's hands in his. “There is only accepting the past and moving on.”

Hermione looked up into his eyes, and for a moment, Ron found it difficult to breathe. But then Hermione blinked and pulled away from him.

“Like you did? Selling stupid picture books and pretending the darkness just went away?”

“I'm not pretending anything.”

“You rushed to the Weasleys' aid awfully quickly,” said Hermione.

“I had no desire to leave an ill woman to the tender mercies of the Aurors,” said Snape, his voice sounding silky once more. “And neither did you, I seem to recall.”

“You filthy hypocrite. You talk about moving on, yet at the first opportunity you were out there again, hunting Audrey down like an animal. Did you bait her before you stunned her?”

“I never tortured,” said Snape, his expression bland.

“Your former students might disagree with that.”

Snape gave her a withering look. “The fact that you consider an insult to your appearance to be on par with a decades-long campaign of terror and intimidation further demonstrates that you are as ignorant of historical context as you are incapable of coping with your own actions, and I daresay, desires. I pity you, Granger. But teaching you how not to be a deluded narcissist is in no way my responsibility, nor is it Mr. Weasley's. He was clever enough to extricate himself from your company, and now that you have your book, I'd like to do the same.”

Ron winced. Hermione was obviously exhausted from the argument, which was when, in the past, that she started to take the wildest swings.

“Just because you never had a friendship that didn't end with your friend's blood on your hands doesn't mean you get to disparage mine!”

Snape smirked. “Given that your only friendships exist because a Mountain Troll wandered into the toilet where you were blubbering, you're hardly an expert on the subject.”

“Said the man who took advantage of a vulnerable Muggle-born girl to make himself feel important.”

“I never had to do Lily's homework for her in order to keep her friendship,” said Snape. “That's one advantage of being secure enough in my own intelligence that I didn't need to surround myself with half-wits in order to feel clever.”

“You mean to say that the elder Messrs Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy were stimulating company?”

It was like a game of Exploding Snap. One of them was going to blow up, and it was going to be terrifying. And, if he was honest with himself, a bit thrilling, even if he didn't care for Snape's insinuation that he was a half-wit.

“That's enough,” said Snape flatly, waving his wand to dispel the _Muffliato_. “You can wait for Mr. Weasley like a lovesick puppy outside.”

“Why are you trying to make this about Ron?” asked Hermione, ignoring Snape's marching orders once again. “I know he has Tuesdays off. Unless you're the one waiting up for him like a lovesick puppy.”

Snape didn't dignify her accusation with a response, he merely swept past Hermione. Or perhaps he meant to, but she moved to intercept him, and he collided with her shoulder, which made her lose her balance and fall against a bookshelf.

Snape turned and held out a hand to help her up, but Hermione clenched her fists once more.

“I don't need help.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Granger,” said Snape, turning to leave once more. “Perhaps one day it'll even be true.”

“I didn't just come here for a book, you know,” said Hermione, which stopped Snape in his tracks.

“I'm well aware of that.”

Hermione scowled. “Then why did you let me go on like that?”

“Because clearly you wished to.”

“And you didn't?” asked Hermione mockingly.

“Not particularly. I had hoped you would come to the point eventually.”

Hermione's eyes were blazing. “You miserable coward.”

“Your point,” snarled Snape. Ron suspected that Snape was wearying of the argument as well. But why hadn't he decisively ended it yet? It wasn't as though he couldn't.

“You know damned well,” said Hermione, drawing her wand and advancing on Snape.

Snape drew his own wand and took a step back. “This isn't what you want.”

“How would you know?” asked Hermione angrily. “She was homicidal, and you expect me to believe she just gave up? I'm going to find out what you did, whether you like it or not.”

Snape blinked in surprise at the apparent change of topic and shook his head as if to clear his ears. “You're accusing me of casting the Imperius Curse on Audrey Weasley?” he asked.

“You can give me your wand now, or you can wait until I get approval to administer Veritaserum,” said Hermione, her voice shaking.

What on earth was Hermione doing? She'd barely been cleared for duty and now she was threatening Snape based on a nonexistent investigation?

“You unspeakable little fool,” growled Snape, advancing on her.

Hermione brandished her wand at him. “Stay away from me!”

“That's not really what you want, is it?” said Snape. To Ron's utter shock, he seized her arms and kissed her brutally.

For a moment, Ron thought Hermione was going to attack. She struggled to free her arms, and Snape released her, breathing hard. But instead but instead of clawing him, Hermione's wand clattered to the floor, and she seized the sides of his face and kissed him back just as fiercely.

Now that the noisy spell was gone, Ron could hear the wet sounds of their mouths meeting, their teeth clacking against one another, and their strained breathing with perfect clarity, and he was horrified to feel his cock hardening as he watched their mouths battle one another in a completely new way.

After what seemed like ages, Snape pulled himself away from her and threw his wand on the ground.

Hermione, whose lips were plump and red from kissing, stared at him in dazed confusion.

“Well?”

“Severus, I—“

“Take it. Do what you must to assuage your morbid curiosity. And if you actually care how Mrs. Weasley was apprehended, I suggest you talk to your ex-boyfriend or, heaven forfend, someone you trust who was actually there.”

Hermione's face grew thunderous. “That's all you have to say to me?”

“I will not continue to waste time on someone incapable of articulating her own desires. I've shown you what I have to offer. If you cannot bring yourself to be honest with yourself and with me, there is nothing more to be said. I trust you can see yourself out.”

The last thing Ron saw before leaving the Extendable Eyes and Ears dangling between the shelves and leaping behind the counter to hide was a look of resolution settle into Hermione's face.

He heard rather than saw her exit the shop, after which there was a noisy blast of air from the back room. The sound of Snape's footsteps upstairs made Ron belatedly realise that Snape had flown up over the back room balcony and was pacing around his office.

As the air stilled, Ron quietly let himself out of the shop and locked the door behind him.

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Wednesday morning was restocking day, and Ron found Snape already at Palindrome surrounded by discarded brown delivery paper and scribbling in the ledger.

“Good morning, sir,” said Ron, trying not to sound as uncertain as he felt. He didn't fancy Snape figuring out what he'd seen the night before.

“Good morning, Weasley,” said Snape, sounding suspiciously normal and not bothering to look up. “I trust you had a pleasant excursion to Hogsmeade?”

“I did,” said Ron. “I've got a clear favourite and already wrote to the listing agent.”

“Is it a rental property or an outright purchase?”

“Either,” said Ron. “Aquilina says she knows the owner and would be willing to talk him down on a purchase price.”

Snape looked up at last. “Aquilina?”

“I ran into her at the Three Broomsticks. She and Henrietta showed me around. And speaking of which,” Ron pulled _Pascentia's Passion_ out of his robes, “I finally finished. Thanks for letting me read it.”

Snape took the volume and laid it aside with uncharacteristic gentleness. “You enjoyed it, I trust.”

“Cried my eyes out at the end, but yeah,” said Ron gruffly.

“It's been known to have that effect.”

“It's one of the best things I've read. Is her other stuff that good?”

“Her books differ from one another considerably in tone and style,” said Snape, “but yes, each one is exceptional in its own way. Henrietta was well?”

“She seemed happy,” said Ron. “She asked after you. Wanted to know if you'd cultivated any dangerous hobbies or were seeing anyone.”

Snape snorted. “I'm sure she was terribly disappointed that you answered in the negative.”

They were straying uncomfortably close to the conversation that Ron knew Snape wouldn't be happy about. “Her husband seems nice. He was working in the garden when we passed their house.”

“Pruning the roses, no doubt,” said Snape, blandly. “Weasley, go shelve that stack of new issues.”

Ron let out a sigh of relief. Shelving was mindless work, plus it meant he got to admire the variant covers. As he worked, he glanced back at the counter and wondered what Snape was thinking about. Henrietta and Aquilina were clearly worried about him, though if the fight Snape and Hermione had had last night was any indication, they didn't need to worry that Snape wasn't getting his blood flowing.

He reflexively made a face as he tried not to imagine the two of them getting their blood flowing in other ways, but paused. It wasn't such a mad thought, really. For all of the vitriol the two had spat at one another, Snape understood something that Ron never had when Hermione had initiated shouting matches with him: she enjoyed it, and she enjoyed it when he yelled back. And while Snape had threatened to end the fight several times, he hadn't, at least not until he'd laid his cards on the table. He was willing to continue their sparring, but it wouldn't be a no-stakes game any more.

Ron suddenly heard Hermione's thirteen-year-old voice in his ear chanting “We attacked a teacher! We attached a teacher!” the night they'd found Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack and realised that Snape had been the first authority figure she'd violently opposed. Had she been secretly thrilled in that moment, too?

And Snape. He'd been unhinged by fury that night, so much so that Ron had a hard time reconciling that Snape with the Snape with whom he was friendly. But Snape had been under much more pressure then. Was shouting and screaming the sort of release Snape needed?

Regardless, Ron knew it was something he didn't want to stand in the way of, but it also wasn't the sort of thing he could talk to either of them about without getting hexed.

As he returned to the counter for another armload of inventory to shelve, he caught sight of _Pascentia's Passion_ where Snape had left it. Clearly, Snape and Henrietta had parted on good terms, but he didn't seem particularly keen to discuss their relationship. But perhaps he might be willing to discuss the book.

Perfect.

“There's one thing I don't get about that book,” remarked Ron, who was re-organising the _Pip and Pep_ books to make room for several copies of the latest.

Snape looked up. “Which one? The Howser?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “How is Antonius so certain that returning to Rome is going to make him happier than staying with Pascentia?”

“The book is what's known as a pastoral romance,” said Snape. “The idealised rural setting represents civilisation's yearning to return to a simpler life, to be in balance with nature, and to restore lost innocence. But Howser did something very clever with Antonius. Do you recall what happened when he attempted to help her bring in the sheep just before the evening rain?”

“They got distracted by a couple of satyrs.”

“Before that,” said Snape impatiently, “Antonius was shown to have no talent with sheep whatsoever. And the scene in which he has difficulty eating the vegetables the centaurs prepared for them. There are numerous examples in which Howser shows that Antonius is every bit as incompatible with country life as Pascentia would be with city life. Besides, Antonius must return to Rome in order to be eligible for another term as Proconsul.”

“So love isn't enough,” said Ron.

“It never is,” said Snape, shutting the ledger and taking an armful of books to the back room.

Ron followed him. “You said you didn't recommend the book to me because you didn't want to assume anything about me and Hermione. Was that what you were talking about?”

“I don't precisely recall,” said Snape, ducking behind a cabinet. “But anyone could see that the two of you were poorly suited to one another.”

“Why, because she's clever and I'm not?” asked Ron, recalling the insult Snape had hurled last night.

“Because you're Pascentia and she's Antonius,” said Snape.

Huh. That made a certain amount of sense. Ron had always wanted a little place in the country, but Hermione insisted they keep a flat near the Ministry. Hermione had always pushed him in their career, and Ron was simply happy to be where he was. Hell, half the reason she became an Auror to begin with was to make sure that he and Harry didn't fail out of training. Ron was so taken with the observation that he nearly missed the opportunity it provided him.

“So clearly what she needs is another Antonius,” said Ron, ducking back into the front room before Snape had a chance to digest his comment.

Snape's response was deafening silence, which lasted until the next customer came in.

Fortunately, between all the new inventory to shelve and offsetting lunch hours, Ron didn't have the opportunity to put his foot in his mouth again before five o'clock rolled around. He was happy to leave Snape to his thoughts, but his delight at his own subterfuge lasted only until he spotted Draco Malfoy seated next to Harry at the Cloak and Wand, and Hermione looked no happier about it than Ron was.

Ron armed himself with a round of pints before entering the fray.

It went about as well as could be expected; Ron drank too much, Hermione left in a huff, and Harry and Draco ended up having a row in the loo over one thing or another, after which Draco Apparated Merlin-knew-where.

Before Harry followed Draco off to wherever he'd gone, Ron managed to ask him how Hermione had been that morning, if she'd seemed upset or weird about anything.

Harry appeared bewildered by the question. “Hardly,” he said. “I haven't seen her so focused in ages. She single-handedly finished all the paperwork from last month's cases.”

“But did she seem happy?”

“As happy as I've ever seen anybody doing paperwork. She even asked after Vandachari's kids. I didn't even know she knew their names.”

Harry made his excuses and went off in search of his boyfriend and left Ron to stagger home. His thoughts weren't exactly clear, but his suspicion that Hermione had enjoyed her row with Snape had been confirmed. And if Snape's patient analysis of _Pascentia's Passion_ was any indication, Snape was no worse for wear, either.

Ron weaved around a lamp post that he swore hadn't been there a moment ago and spotted Hermione coming out of Flourish and Blott's, and when he called after her, she took his arm to prevent him from falling off the pavement again.

“Thanks, Hermione,” said Ron, hoping he wasn't slurring as badly as he suspected he was.

“Well, the next time Draco invites himself along, hopefully Harry will talk him out of it,” said Hermione, pulling on his arm so that he was lodged more securely on her shoulder.

“Malfoy is a git of the first water,” pronounced Ron solemnly. “But apparently Harry likes unbelievable gits, so we should support that.”

“We could start a Society for the Promotion of Romance for Unbelievable Gits.”

“S.P.R.U.G?” said Ron, sniggering.

“You mean S-P-R-U-G,” said Hermione primly before breaking into giggles.

“Speaking of unbelievable gits,” said Ron. “I wanted to say m'sorry.”

“What for?”

“That it didn't work out between us and that I didn't find a better way to tell you.”

Hermione waved her hand. “I won't say it didn't hurt. But the longer we're apart, the more I realise that you were right. It wasn't working, and I'm not sure it ever did.”

“Sure, because I'm Pascentia and you're Antonius,” said Ron.

“What?”

“It's from a thing. A book,” said Ron, recalling from the wavering recesses of his memory that Hermione needed to know he was okay with her and Snape snogging without saying so directly. “You should read it. _Pascentia's Passion_ by Henrietta Howser. Snape's got a copy. Should ask him for it. But ask nice. It's special.”

Ron felt Hermione stiffen under his arm. “I don't think I'll be seeing him any time soon.”

“Why not?” asked Ron. “I'm gonna be moving to Hogsmeade so if you want any more of the good stuff, you're gonna have to get it from him.”

“You're quitting the shop?” asked Hermione. “I thought you loved working there.”

“No, no. Not quitting. I'm running Palindrome North. Snape's giving me a loan and everything so I can keep _Wonder Witch #1_.”

Ron knew he wasn't being clear, but he hoped Hermione was getting the gist.

“This is me,” he said, pointing to the narrow door that led up to his flat.

“Are you going to be all right by yourself?” asked Hermione.

Ron felt a silly grin spread across his face. “It'll be brilliant. I've got cottage picked out already. You can see the lake from the window. There's a weather vane with a dragon on it. A dragon, Hermione! The shop's going to be amazing once it's fixed up. An' I can cheer on Gryffindor in Quidditch an' I can decorate for holidays an' it's so close to the Three Broomsticks I can get Madam Rosmerta's Butterbeer any time! An' I already know people who live there. It's gonna be perfect, Hermione. I can't bloody wait.”

“I meant if you thought you could handle all the stairs,” said Hermione, giving him a soft smile. “But I'm glad about the rest, too.”

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The next weeks were busy. Ron and Snape spent every waking hour that Palindrome wasn't open fixing up the shop in Hogsmeade. Ron wasn't certain what Snape had sold, but he'd made enough to purchase Palindrome North outright, for all that they made a point to salvage as much of the detritus from previous owners as possible.

Snape always Apparated back to London immediately after the evening's project was done, despite Ron's entreaties to join him for a drink at the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head. Ron supposed he understood. You could practically see the Shrieking Shack from the store, a place Snape would probably be glad never to visit again.

Ron wished he could move into Dragon Cottage immediately, which was up the hill from High Street, but his tenancy agreement didn't begin until the first of December. The walls of his bedsit never felt plainer or more confining than they did during those weeks.

Fortunately, work was still fun, and in preparation for him running the store in Hogsmeade, Snape had given Ron the pleasant task of reviewing publisher's samples in order to decide what inventory to stock. The choice was ultimately Snape's, of course, but Ron was satisfied to see that Snape nearly always heeded his recommendations. Ron slept better than he had in ages, weary from the day's work and with so much to look forward to.

He was also pleased to find Hermione browsing and Snape pretending to ignore her the following Thursday when he came in for his late shift. Ron greeted each of them in turn and made a point of reminding Hermione to ask Snape about _Pascentia's Passion_. He doubted that Snape would be willing to lend her his copy, but he could order it for her. And order it he would, if he was serious about the oblique offer he'd made Hermione during their row.

The two of them left the shop together, and as they left, Hermione looked back, presumably to gauge Ron's response. He gave her a grin and a thumb's up, which he hoped would be sufficient to allay her concerns.

The weekend passed without event, and on Monday evening, the counter top for the Hogsmeade shop arrived. And finally, it was December first, and Ron could move out of his tiny flat in the city for Dragon Cottage and its awesome weather vane. He had few possessions to move. He'd claimed some mismatched old furniture from around his parents' property—an old wooden bed frame from the attic, a kitchen table and chairs from dad's shed, and a lumpy sofa that Bill and Fleur were replacing. He even moved his old school trunk to use as a coffee table.

He'd just finished trimming some holly branches off the tree in the back yard and was arranging them in a pitcher when there was a knock at the door. He was surprised to find Snape standing there with a new bottle of firewhisky in his hand.

“It's not a house-warming gift,” said Snape, without preamble. “But no bookshop keeper should be without a bottle in his possession.”

Ron laughed and ushered him in. “It'll be a while before this place is warm anyway, but it's already feeling like home.”

“It's remarkable how quickly we adapt,” said Snape, glancing out the window.

“Well, I know we've got a lot of shelves to install,” said Ron, “but would you like a drink before we start? Some generous soul gave me a bottle of firewhisky that I probably shouldn't drink all on my lonesome.”

“Very well,” said Snape. “I plan to make you do most of the work anyway.”

Ron grinned. “Make yourself at home. Just watch out for the left cushion on the sofa. I think there's a spring about to come loose.”

Ron opened the bottle and poured them both several fingers of firewhisky. He handed a tumbler to Snape, who nodded his thanks.

They clinked glasses and drank.

“So, how's Hermione?” asked Ron.

Snape nearly spat out his drink and instead choked.

Ron summoned a glass, cast Aguamenti into it, and handed it to Snape.

As Snape continued to cough, it dawned on Ron that Snape had misinterpreted his question to be one of a more intimate nature.

“I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean it like that. I was just asking after her because I hadn't heard from her in a few days and since her special order came in on Sunday, I thought you might have seen her.

While he babbled, it also occurred to him that Snape's extreme reaction betrayed more than perhaps he intended.

“Morgana's tits!” swore Ron.

“Got there, did you?” asked Snape between coughs.

“Some master spy you are,” said Ron, reflexively horrified at the thought of the two of them shagging and half amused that Snape had let so much slip.

“I wasn't expecting to be interrogated on my personal life,” said Snape, summoning a formidable scowl.

“Well, you'd better get used to it,” said Ron. “People will talk. Not me, of course. But other people.”

“I'm well aware of the risks of involvement with those in whom the public takes prurient interest.”

Ron hastily refilled Snape's glass. “I didn't think it would happen so fast.”

“I'm surprised you thought it would happen at all.”

“I heard you arguing. It was only a matter of time before you started tearing one another's clothes off.”

Snape flushed an ugly red, and Ron covered his face with his hand when he realised how close he must have inadvertently stumbled to the truth. “Merlin, I'm really on a roll, aren't I?”

“I do not wish to discuss this any further with you.”

“Suits me,” said Ron, tossing back the last of his drink. “What do you say we install some shelves?”

“I'd say that's an excellent idea.”

They cast warming charms on their robes and boots and stepped out into the cold darkness. The lights of Hogwarts castle were glimmering in the distance and were reflected in the surface of the lake.

“I've been meaning to ask,” said Ron, lighting his wand and stepping on to the path that led down to the store. “Have you decided who you're going to have working the late shift on Diagon Alley when Palindrome North opens?”

“No-one,” said Snape falling into step next to him. “I had a close look at the numbers and found that the store makes most of its sales between the hours of eleven in the morning and eight in the evening, so I will be cancelling the night shift except during Christmas holidays and other times you may be available, such as the summer.”

“But if you don't need me during the year, why would you need me during the summer?”

“I don't precisely need you, Weasley. But I've got rather used to your inane observations, and I suspect I shall miss them.”

Ron was glad his blush wasn't visible in the dark.

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Two weeks before Christmas, the holiday rush began in earnest, as the students returned from Hogwarts and wandered about Diagon Alley with their families. Ron was expected at the Burrow for Christmas, and Mum let him know in a newsy note that Audrey was responding well to treatment at St. Mungo's and might even be released before the new year. Mum had also been telling anyone who would listening that Ron would be running a shop in Hogsmeade, which pleased and embarrassed him at the same time.

Snape had reluctantly agreed to keep Palindrome closed on Boxing Day, but only if Ron agreed to work Christmas Eve with him, which Ron wasn't terribly sorry to promise, since it meant that George would have less of an opportunity to demonstrate the latest Weasley Wizarding Wheezes on him. However, Ron had no idea how he was going survive until then, because restocking the Wednesday before Christmas had been complete chaos. There were more customers in the store than Ron had ever seen at once, and he and Snape had to stay a half hour past closing in order to finish restocking and closing the register.

“I'm completely knackered,” moaned Ron, collapsing into a chair in the reading nook.

“Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to move at some point,” said Snape, holding up a folded piece of parchment. “This arrived while you were at lunch.”

Ron took the note and groaned when he saw that it was from Oswald Brimble, who had been his landlord until the start of the month.

“What does that old skinflint want now?” he muttered as he unfolded the note.

To his dismay, Brimble was refusing to refund all of his tenancy deposit until they'd done a walk-through of the bedsit, and he was going to be leaving tomorrow on a trip to the Azores. And if he didn't show up before six, he would forfeit the amount.

“I've got to go,” said Ron. “Brimble's being an arse about my deposit. See you tomorrow at five.”

“Be sure the 'Closed' sign is in the window when you leave,” said Snape absently.

Ron made his way to his old flat. Old Brimble was clearly annoyed that he'd showed up, and of course there was nothing missing or broken in the tiny bedsit. After glaring at the tiny mirror in an ill-fated attempt to make it fall with the force of his bad temper, Brimble coughed up the remainder of Ron's deposit.

Ron accepted it with ill grace and walked toward the Apparation point. He was looking forward to his first proper soak in the claw-foot tub at Dragon Cottage and a tumbler of Snape's gift.

But as he stepped out into the street and glanced back at Palindrome, he realised that the “Closed” sign wasn't in the window. In his annoyance at Brimble, he'd apparently forgot to put it up. He'd locked the door after him and the shades were down in the windows, so it's not as though any customers were going to go wandering in, but it was the sort of carelessness that irritated Snape, so he went back to correct his error.

Ron quietly unlocked the door to the shop in hopes of putting the sign in the door before Snape realised it wasn't there, and was pleased to find that Snape wasn't in the main room. He slipped the “Closed” sign between the shade and the glass of the door and was about to sneak out again when he heard the sound of Snape's voice coming from the back room.

Odd. Snape hadn't said anything about meeting any collectors after hours.

Ron tiptoed across the main room, his fingers already seeking his Extendable Eyes and Ears, when another voice spoke, and he recognised it as Hermione's.

His hand froze. He didn't have any right to eavesdrop them. It wasn't as though he had to worry about them tearing out one another's throats now, not after Snape's accidental confession. Still, he had to admit that a thrill went through him imagining that the two of them might start shagging against the bookshelves. It was like something out of one of Sarpiero's early books.

However, having grown up in a house in which privacy was at a premium, he reluctantly concluded that it'd be violating his friendship with both of them if he spied. He cursed inwardly, wondering if Harry felt this thick when he was struck with inconvenient bouts of moral fibre.

Ron returned the Eyes and Ears to his pocket when he heard what was unmistakably the wet sound of snogging from the back room. He studiously tried to ignore it and crept quietly over to the door.

“Wait,” he heard Snape say, his voice sounding unusually hoarse. “Weasley has a key.”

“I know,” said Hermione. This was followed by a particularly loud kiss, and he heard Snape hiss. “You said he likes watching.”

Ron felt the blood leaving his head and migrating south with every beat of his heart.

“Vixen,” growled Snape.

“No, don't lock it,” said Hermione. “Imagine he's already crept in. He's there, on the other side of the wall. Listening to us.”

“Knowing Weasley, he's having a crisis of conscience,” said Snape, whose voice sounded oddly muffled. “He wants to stay but knows we wouldn't approve.”

Hermione gasped, and Ron's fingers itched to deploy the Extendable Eyes and Ears.

“I see,” said Hermione breathlessly. “Make it harder for him, then.”

A sizzling purple beam came shooting out of the back room, which made Ron jump. The door began to glow in the same colour as the spell. Ron didn't need to poke the spell with his wand to know it was a locking spell even more powerful than the one Snape taught Ron, and he hadn't the faintest idea how to counter it.

If he Apparated out, they'd know he had overheard them, which would be embarrassing, but not the end of the world. But if he wanted to, it was possible to remain undetected. And the insistent throbbing in his pants reminded him that he wanted very much to stay.

“That was overkill, don't you think?” asked Hermione.

“I'll show you overkill, you incorrigible brat,” said Snape between kisses.

“Give me back my wand!”

“I don't believe I will.”

“What are you going to do?” said Hermione. Her voice had increased in volume enough that Ron knew she was getting angry. ”Threaten me with a curse you don't even have the strength to cast?”

“It's high time someone taught you a lesson.”

“You couldn't even if you tried, old man!”

Ron gasped as Snape let out a strangled breath. “I am going to place that pert little arse of yours on this shelf and then I am going to fuck your silly little cunt until you scream.”

Ron abandoned all thought of escaping, yanked the Extendable Eyes and Ears out of their pouch, and put them on as quickly as possible.

They were practically climbing over one another, fighting for dominance with their kisses and hands as much as with their words.

“You think you can make me scream?” asked Hermione, cupping Snape's crotch with her hand. “With that?”

“If you're capable of screaming in pleasure, you miserable shrew,” said Snape, seizing both of her wrists in his hand and pressing her face against the bookshelf. He raised his hand and brought it down on her arse with a smack that made Ron's cock jump.

“Bastard,” screeched Hermione, yanking against his restraining hands.

“My my, Miss Granger,” said Snape, bringing his hand down on her once more. “One would think you'd never been spanked before.”

“You'd like to think that, wouldn't you, you disgusting pervert,” shouted Hermione twisting her hips deliciously. “That's why you can't find a witch your own age, you want to be someone's first. Well, I've been fucked more times and in more ways than you can possibly imagine.”

“I think you'll find my imagination is capable of grasping your pathetic adolescent fumblings,” said Snape, yanking up Hermione's robes, exposing a pair of lacy knickers. He gave her pinkening bottom another smack, and Hermione growled—there was no other word for it.

“You won't even be my first time in this room!” Hermione hissed, yanking her arms free. “I came all over your floor, and you had to smell my quim for days. I'll bet you got hard every time you smelled me all over your disgusting books!”

Ron shuddered, hurriedly unzipped his trousers, and took himself in hand.

“Wonderfully filthy books that brought you to greater heights of sexual climax than you'd ever reached before,” said Snape in a hypnotic voice that Ron had never found sexy until that moment.

“You don't know anything about it!” said Hermione, leaping toward the shelf where Snape had placed her wand.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of,” said Snape, his voice immediately becoming clinical as he and Hermione began to circle one another.

“I'm not ashamed, you presumptuous arse!”

“Some people go their whole miserable lives without ever discovering what brings them sexual satisfaction. And others are too prudish, too convinced that they are above all of that, to make the most elementary exploration.”

“Said the man who pined for a dead woman for decades,” said Hermione, her eyes smouldering. “I'll bet you lost your virginity to a whore you bought for yourself when you turned forty.”

Snape let out an inarticulate roar and pounced on Hermione, yanking on the neck of her robes until the fabric tore. “Look around you, you ignorant child. Every piece in this room is a testament to the power of lust. You frigged yourself to _Delphinia in Bloom_ , one of the tamest pieces in this collection. Have you any idea the heights of glorious depravity that you have yet to explore?”

Hermione fastened her mouth to Snape's neck. “I don't need you,” she said, sucking hard.

“No, but you want me,” said Snape, sticking his hand between her legs, which made Hermione gasp. “You want nothing more than to rub your cunt in my face and have me call you a goddess, but I know you too well. You're no goddess deserving of worship. You are a liar,” he said kissing her fiercely. “A thief. An extortionist. You are unworthy of the skills and honours you possess.”

Hermione threw her head back and uttered a cry. “And you?” she gasped, yanking Snape's robe open and tearing the buttons from his chest. “Do you think any goddess would crave your worship, you hateful,” she kissed him, “repulsive,” she said pinching his nipple, “thrice-damned murderer who blackens everything he touches.”

Snape was wriggling out of his clothes and tore her robes further, which exposed the swell of Hermione's brassiere. “You shrieking harpy,” he gasped, pressing his face between her breasts. “You're incapable of love, unworthy of desire.”

Hermione dug her fingers into Snape's hair, seizing his skull. He allowed himself to be forced to his knees, his face at Hermione's crotch.

“You don't deserve to smell my cunt,” said Hermione. “You don't deserve to lick it.”

Snape's hands flew to the band of her knickers and yanked them off. “I have absolutely no intention of doing so.”

With a whispered incantation, Hermione rose into the air as books flew from the shelves.

“You still think you can make me scream?”

“I know I can,” said Snape. “Be a good girl and let me know how I'm doing.”

Ron began to move his hand in time with Snape's fingers as they disappeared into Hermione's body and withdrew, thumbing her clitoris with practiced ease.

“I'm supposed to be impressed?” hissed Hermione, her knees jerking. “I can do this myself.”

“I grow weary of your empty boasts,” said Snape, leading with his middle finger and doing something inside her that made Hermione's eyes roll back in her head. “Do the world a favour and for once in your life, hold your tongue.”

Hermione's eyes flew open and she glared at him even as she squeezed her knees together around his forearm. “That's what you've always wanted, isn't it? Someone pliable you can control the way you've never had any control over anything in your sad little life?”

Snape withdrew his hand and yanked Hermione's brassiere off, cupping her breasts in his hand. “Said the woman trembling for my cock,” he spat. “By all means, continue to spew your lies and insults. But I will make you scream, Miss Granger, and nothing you can say will stop that.”

Ron was simultaneously horrified by their vitriol and more turned on than he'd ever been in his life. Blood was pounding in his ears, and his cock was straining against his hand, begging him to thrust. He'd never seen Hermione like this, furious, chest heaving in anger, and obviously incredibly turned on.

Hermione let out an inarticulate howl as Snape closed the distance between them, sliding his cock confidently between her legs and thrusting deeply into her.

“I'll never scream,” she whined, shaking her head back and forth. “You'll never be good enough.”

“I'm good enough for the likes of you,” said Snape, withdrawing and thrusting into her once more. “I'm more than you deserve, you heartless creature.”

“You fraudul—ungh!” Hermione groaned, wrapping her legs around him.

Snape pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to her forehead, and he settled into an excruciatingly slow rhythm that Ron matched, doing his best not to thrust uncontrollably into his hand.

Hermione arched her chest towards him, forcing him to adjust so to keep her from sliding off the shelf.

“Take it,” he groaned.

“I can't!” wailed Hermione, wiggling on the shelf and wrapping her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her.

“You will,” whispered Snape, wrapping his arm around her waist, with a groan.

Ron was surprised to see tears spilling out of Hermione's closed eyes, and Snape began to speed up his thrusts. He was getting close, and from the stuttering sound of Hermione's breathing, she was too.

Their gasps and groans grew louder as, at long last, their words failed them, and Hermione's hands began to clench of their own accord, and her thighs trembled.

Ron leaned hard against the bookshelf and tugged desperately on his cock, trying not to let his whimpers escape from his throat.

Snape began to pound into her, and Hermione's eyes flew open, and she stared at the hole in the wall through which Ron was watching. She let out a shout and began to chant the broken syllables of Snape's name, her voice cracking, until at last she let her head fall back and screamed, as if her climax had been torn from her against her will.

As Hermione climaxed around him, Snape seized her buttocks, angled her hips just so, and thrust into her once, twice, thrice more, each more deliberate than the last. Hermione was squirming, her voice breaking on every shout, and her body stiffened.

Ron couldn't breathe. He pumped his cock in time with Snape's final thrusts, and his climax broke over him as Snape cried out, broken and triumphant at the same time. White light exploded on the backs of Ron's eyelids, and he came, pumping frantically, and ejaculate erupted from the head of his cock, spilling out of his hand and dribbling on to the floor.

He slumped to the floor, gasping for air, and the Extendable Eyepieces slid from his nose as the earpieces popped from his ears. He’d shot come all over himself, his clothes, and the floor, but Ron felt a bit of perverse pride that he'd still managed to keep it off the books.

But a noise from within the room sent a knife of dread through his post-orgasmic haze. Regardless of the circumstances, he could not be caught, especially not with his pants down.

He drew his wand and cleaned up his mess from the floor, pulled up his trousers and pants once again, and gathered up the Extendable Eyes and Ears. One last glance through the eyepieces showed them rocking gently together, and Ron could hear them murmuring indistinctly even without the Ears.

He cast a panicked look at the door, which was still glowing with whatever spell Snape had cast on it. There was still no way out. His only hope was to hide behind the counter and hope Snape had taken care of everything he'd needed to already.

Ron cast one final cleansing spell on the bit of floor he'd messed, and took his place behind the counter. No sooner had he finished buttoning up and straightening his robes than Hermione and Snape came walking out of the back room, hand-in-hand. Ron ducked behind the counter but quickly realised he could see what they were doing reflected in the glass of a painting of Dragon Man that hung behind the register.

They looked as though they'd been engaged in battle, hardly dressed, with ripped robes hanging forlornly from their largely naked bodies. Wordlessly, Hermione cast a series of spells to repair Snape's robes, and applied healing spells with the tip of her wand as she kissed his wounds, and to his surprise, Snape repeated the procedure, taking especial care to smooth her hair and touch her face with reverent fingers.

At last, she smiled up at him and kissed him soundly.

“Come to mine?” he murmured into her hair. “I'll draw you a bath this time.”

“All right,” said Hermione. “And Severus, thank you.”

“You don't need to thank me,” he said, his voice gentle.

“I know,” she said. “But I wanted to anyway.”

Snape kissed her gently and placed a ring of keys in her hand. “Let yourself in. I'll only be a moment.”

Hermione returned the kiss, span on her heel, and Disapparated.

Snape and walked over to the door, and dispelled the purple glow. He reached in between the shade and the glass of the door and withdrew the “Closed” sign that Ron had placed there.

Ron heard him chuckle to himself as he replaced the sign, cast the security spell once more, extinguished the light.

“Goodnight, Mr. Weasley,” he murmured.

There was a loud crack, and he was gone.

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THE END

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